Family's what matters
by Alpha Hydra
Summary: Draco Malfoy finally has some semblance of his life back. That is, if he can survive with Minister Scrimgeour and Head Auror Potter watching his every move. DH compliant but ignores epilogue rated for later chapters DM/HP
1. Family's What Matters

-----------Harry Potter and all related characters, places and creatures are owned and are registered trademarks of JKR, Scholastic Press and a whole lot of other people who are not me. I'm just doing this for the love of fanfiction...and slash ;) ------------

Draco Malfoy, age eight, was lying in a small clearing somewhere in his backyard, just far enough away from his house to not see it peeking out over the tops of the trees surrounding him. However, he wasn't far enough away to be afraid of wandering into the unexplored parts of his yard either, so he could make it back home if Dad called him or something.

He didn't know how big his backyard was, or his front yard for that matter; he had not gotten around to asking his parents about it yet. He just knew that they stretched on for what seemed like eternity, the small enchanted stream starting in the courtyard and ending in a lake somewhere deep in the forest. He didn't know where the lake was or how to get to it, but his Dad said that one day, when he was old enough he'd take Draco there. Someday he would know; his Dad always assured him. One day he would know all of these grounds by memory. It was his life's goal to be able to wander through the miniature forests surrounding the Manor and not have to throw sparks up into the air with his training wand when he got lost (Mom refused to get him a real wand until he turned 10).

He watched the sky reddening above his head for some time before really realizing that the sun was setting. It was so easy to fall into a dreamy trance-like state here in the quiet, with only the birds chirping and wind rushing through the tall grass and even taller trees. In the afternoon the peacocks would always be walking about, their bright tails displayed for all the world to see. By now, however, the peacocks would be sleeping and would be replaced by owls and deer.

He knew also, that deeper into his yard there were wolves and bears. Dad also said that there were Manticores and unicorns in there too, but Draco wasn't sure he believed that. If there were any Manticores, they would have eaten all of the unicorns anyway, right?

But the wolves and bears did come out at night. Draco had seen them. Mom always told him to be back inside by nightfall or at least in the fenced courtyard by then; there were dangerous things in Draco's backyard. Things that could eat him and leave nothing behind as evidence, things that could drive him crazy with just a wail of its voice…things Draco didn't want to think about. He should be getting home, now that he thought about it. Hopefully, he could get back to the kitchens for an after-dinner treat from one of the house elves.

Draco smirked wickedly and sat up, dusting away the dirt and bits of grass from his brand new set of robes. He carefully followed the dirt paths that would lead him back to the Manor and not to some strange, unknown part of the forest. After maybe five minutes, his house's towering spires came into view, and then soon enough the thicket cleared and he was faced with (what Draco assumed to be) kilometers of neat, cleanly mowed grass.

His Dad was standing by the back entrance, smiling as he watched the sun set beyond the tumbling hills of the Malfoy estate. He saw Draco emerge from the copse and Draco felt his cheeks flush as his Dad eyed him suspiciously. But he had not done anything wrong, he assured himself. Draco had made it back to the courtyard and the sun hadn't even set yet. AND he'd made it back all by himself, without having to send sparks into the air or anything. Surely he wouldn't be in any trouble?

Still his pace quickened and his gaze dropped minutely as he approached his Dad. He had crossed his arms by then, his eyebrow rising ever so slightly and his foot tapping steadily. Draco's insides began to feel heavy. _Had_ he done something wrong?

"You forgot your Grandmother Druella Black was coming today," his Dad said when Draco was close enough.

His face paled. Grandma Ella! It was her birthday, and she was coming over along with Grandpa Cygnus for dinner. How could he have forgotten?

"I'm sorry Dad," he said sheepishly, dropping his gaze and shuffling his foot. "I hope I didn't offend them."

His Dad watched him sharply for a few seconds, before breaking into a bright smile.

"Served them right anyway," he said, crouching down until he was eye-level with Draco, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "She insinuated that we were raising an uncouth delinquent instead of the debonair gentlemen like she expected. I told one of the elves to put a small dose of Sneezing Potion into her soup, so she'd leave early."

Draco laughed, although he wasn't entirely sure what his Grandma had insulted to be at the end of one of his dad's pranks. His dad ruffled his hair and fell silent, thinking.

"Come on Draco, I want to show you something," he said suddenly, standing up and taking Draco's small hand in his.

He was leading them into a direction of the yard Draco had not explored yet, a pathway that his Mom and Dad had always told him to stay away from. A small fear flared up in him, and he tightened his grip on his dad's hand.

"Are we going to the lake, Dad?" he asked uncertainly.

"Not quite, Draco," he answered mysteriously. "We're going to where you can see the lake, but we'll be quite a distance above it."

They followed the winding pathway in silence for a few minutes, the area around them getting more and more dense. After about 15 minutes, a clearing came into view and Draco could see what looked like a large hill with a set of marble stairs inlaid into its side.

"What do you remember about our family history, Draco?" his dad asked as they began to climb up the hill-stairs.

Draco puffed up his chest and raised his chin confidently. He remembered everything his Mom had taught him about their family legacy.

"The Malfoy family is an ancient name that spans back to the 12th century. It is one of only a handful of truly pureblood families still in existence. The first written record of Malfoy money originated in France, with Malfoi DeLaFin, Duke of Savignon, serving as the official magical consultant to King Louis XII. Centuries later, in 1776, Edouard du Malfoi took the Malfoy fortune to Great Britain at the start of the French Revolution, where he waited out the war until-"

"That's a very colorful and descriptive lesson son," his dad said, with a trace of a grin. "But tell me, do you know who your…Great, great, great, great grandfather was?"

Draco furrowed his brow. The sun had fully set by now, and Draco watched the shards of light shine off of his father's long hair as he thought.

"His name was Scorpius Luis Malfoy," his dad added helpfully.

"Oh," Draco said, suddenly smiling, "I know that. Scorpius Luis Malfoy, order of Merlin, First class, single-handedly doubled the Malfoy fortune when he saved the life of Lori Gordon, the Minister of Magic at the time."

"Very good Draco, but don't you think it's troubling that you only know your family by names and dates and significant events?"

They had reached the top of the hill-stairs. They stopped before what looked like a large temple built of white marble. It's face shone like a dream in the bright blue of pre night, that time when the sun had set but it isn't dark enough yet to be afraid. There was no door to the building, only a large entranceway that looked strangely bright, as if there were torches already lit inside.

"How else would I remember them by Dad, if not like this?"

"Well, do you know what your great-grandfather looks like?"

"Yes…I think. He's…umm… Devon Malfoy, right?"

"Yes," his dad said, ruffling Draco's hair and making him flush with pride of getting the answer right. He began to lead them into the temple again. "But it's fine if you don't remember every ancestor you've ever had Draco. There are a lot of them. It's not as if you will be tested on your knowledge of the Malfoy legacy anytime soon. And after all, if you remembered every person who ever begot you, you'd start to forget that they were people."

"How could I forget that, Dad?" Draco laughed. "What else would they be? Trolls?"

His dad laughed at that, but it was a sad sort of laugh, one that Draco didn't particularly like. They entered the small temple, and Draco wasn't surprised to find that torches were burning in here. They must be enchanted to burn at night all of the time, in case a Malfoy ever decided to come here and not have to bother with lighting his own rooms.

"No, I guess they wouldn't be trolls, son. But there is a difference in remembering that Devon Malfoy became Head of the Aurors department in 1925 and that he loved to play the violin for his grandchildren when they spent the night. There is a difference in remembering that his son, Abraxas Malfoy nearly disgraced the Malfoy name when he married Estrella Vernice, a Veela, and that he loved the smell of freshly planted orchids. Do you understand?"

Draco was silent for a while. Around them, the small temple shone with what must have been gold and silver lining every wall, top to bottom. The pillars surrounding them looked to have been carved of pure ivory. Draco yearned to explore the place, but he could sense that this meant something to his dad, even if he wasn't sure what.

"I think I do Dad," he said slowly, not wanting to get this wrong. "It's more important to remember someone for who they were, not for what they did."

"Exactly Draco," his dad said, smiling proudly. Then, in an uncharacteristic show of emotion, he swept Draco up into his arms and kissed his forehead softly. "You're a smart boy."

Draco flushed proudly, but didn't know what to say. Only one other time in his life did he ever remember his dad picking him up in this fashion: when Draco broken his leg two years earlier. And even then, he had only picked him up long enough to Apparate them to St. Mungo's before he handed Draco to a Healer.

"Come, this isn't what I wanted to show you," his dad said as they traveled through the temple and came upon a back exit. It was really just a large opening in the building, with a slab of granite covering the floor on the outside of it. However, Draco was sure that some kind of ancient magic was the only thing holding the granite floor in place. Directly under them and stretching for ages all around them was a lake shining brilliantly in the moonlight.

"What? Dad, how…?" But Draco couldn't finish his sentence. He turned back to the temple behind them and could distinctly make out the entranceway and the grassy hill beyond that. He faced the water again; it looked as if it was some kind of vast ocean, stretching on in all directions, even to where Draco knew the hill must stand. His dad laughed.

"The hill serves as a large cave when you're on Eridanus, the lake itself, son," he said by way of answer. "It's a bit confusing, but earth magic tends to play tricks on your eyesight and mind in that way. When you get to Hogwarts, you'll understand that sometimes magic can take on a life of its own."

Draco was fascinated. He repeated the name of the lake over and over in his head. It sounded ancient and mysterious and…perfect. Draco wanted to know everything there was to know about this kind of magic suddenly. Secretly he vowed to make it his life's goal…or rather, his _other_ life's goal.

"What is this place Dad?" Draco asked, gesturing to the temple behind them.

"It was built many years ago, when my great grandmother developed an interest in the spirit world."

"You mean like ghosts?" Draco gasped a little and tightened his grip around his dad's neck.

"Sort of," he admitted. "I never really understood the true concept, but she was particularly interested in having her magical core connect to the earth's natural magic. She loved the idea of magical Buddhism, so she bought this portion of the grounds when she felt all of the natural magic residing here. Then she built this temple and began to meditate."

"What was she trying to do?"

"She never really said. My great grandfather used to say it was because she was trying to find an inner state of magical Nirvana, where she didn't really own her magic, but felt her magic become one with the magic residing inside of the earth and everyone around her. Others…however, believe it was just a plot to try to harness the power of the earth and use it to her advantage."

"Oh," Draco said. After a pause his dad set him down again.

"That's not what I brought you here for, however," he said with a small sigh.

"Was it for the lake?"

"No, not for the lake. I wanted to show you something, and it's easier to see it from this particular spot, since magical objects can be seen more distinctly here."

He waved his wand and a telescope appeared before them. His dad looked through the end for a while, seeming to trace a certain object's movement through the sky. Finally he stopped and conjured a small step for Draco to reach the eyepiece.

"Look Draco," he said.

Draco did, but saw nothing special except for the thousands of stars that shone upon the Manor every night. Draco was confused. They had gone star gazing before, but it was always much later at night and normally in the west tower of the manor, so that they wouldn't wake Mom.

"Do you see anything different?" Dad asked quietly.

"No, I just see a bunch of stars."

"Look closer Draco," his dad urged. "Something…out of place, different."

Draco was silent for nearly a full minute, squinting into the eyepiece of the telescope, trying to see something other than the hundreds of tiny white lights.

"No," he said again. "I can't-" but then he did see something suddenly: a tiny, flashing, purple…something. He gasped in a way that only awe-struck children know how to gasp. "What is it Dad?"

"It's a tribute to someone," he said softly. "It's there because that person wanted his family to remember who he was and who he loved, and not the mistakes in his life."

"But what is it?" Draco asked, fascinated.

"It's a ball of Everlasting Fire, charmed to burn purple and green until the end of the world and perhaps after that."

"Wow," he whispered. "Who did it?"

"Your granddad, Abraxas. My Father."

"But why?"

His dad said nothing for a second, and when Draco pulled his eyes away from the small dot in the heavens, it was to see his dad staring out towards the lake wistfully.

"He made several mistakes and came very close to losing the Malfoy fortune," he said quietly. "He got it back by less than legal means. For a long time the name 'Malfoy' was disgraced because of some of the things that he did. I was about your age when he first brought me up here and performed the spells that birthed that star of magical fire. He said that as long as I remembered that he loved me, the public disgrace would be nothing. If, however, I refused to remember my father the human, and believed that his mistakes defined who he was, then he would have truly failed as a man. Do you understand, son?"

Draco nodded, but he wasn't entirely sure his dad saw it. He was still gazing out into the night, not seeing it at all. Perhaps he was seeing the past in the shadowy depths of the lake. Suddenly he turned to Draco.

"When you're older, son, you will discover that I myself have made mistakes in my life. They might be ancient history by then, but then again, they may come back to life. I recognize and understand my mistakes may have devastating consequences on my family, but just remember what I said tonight. As long as you remember who I am, and you can forgive me for what I have done in the past, then I might not have failed in my lifetime."

Draco watched his dad as he resumed his staring out into the darkness of the lake. The light from the temple made strange shadows dance across his dad's face, making him look older than Draco knew he was.

"And who are you, Dad?" Draco asked quietly.

His dad turned to him sharply, watching him with an unreadable expression. Then he knelt down until they were eye to eye again and pulled Draco into a hug.

"I am your father, Draco," he said. "And I love you and your mother with all my heart."


	2. Ten years later

Draco Malfoy slammed the door to his small, one bedroom flat angrily, throwing his keys on a side table and pulling off his black leather gloves. He roughly pulled off his black scarf and tossed it on the nearby sofa, the ice still clinging to it scattering everywhere.

Oh, how Draco hated his life.

Nearly a year ago, right after the war had ended, Draco had wondered if he could even be a free man. His father, he knew, would have to spend some time in Azkaban. It was a well known fact that the people wanted vengeance from those who ruined their lives for nearly half a century, and Scrimgeour always cared about what the people wanted. Days after Potter killed off Voldemort, the Death Eater trials began.

They were a nightmare, every single one. Lucius Malfoy was sentenced to life in Azkaban. Potter personally spoke to the Head Auror about Draco's mother and himself, and they were able to plea bargain their way to relative freedom. In exchange for the names of many Death Eaters still at large and testimony during some key trials, Narcissa served absolutely no time in Azkaban. Draco was reluctantly grateful towards Potter for this, although he would never admit it. However, no one particularly wanted Draco to go free (after all, it was Draco's fault that Dumbledore had died).

So Draco was sentenced to four months in Azkaban. After the four months of private hell, he would have to complete 500 hours of community service. It was a common punishment for the children of Death Eaters bullied into service by their parents.

He moved out of the Manor after his time in Azkaban. The house was still being searched extensively by the Ministry, and Draco didn't like the idea of living in a house that was completely open to basically anyone who worked with the Ministry. It had too many memories anyway, memories he didn't think he could face just yet.

So he found a small flat in Muggle London that was as far away from Diagon Alley as humanly possible. And in all honestly, he sort of liked it. The first few days were complete torture because he had to get used to living in a house with basically four rooms: a bedroom, bathroom, kitchen and living room. Coming from a house that had four floors, it was pretty difficult. However, after the first week, Draco started to like the cozy feel it had. His flat felt very personal, very intimate to him, and soon, he began to love the place. The living room was decorated in a very classical way; the dark wood floors and warm colored furniture making the whole room have a very down to earth feel. The kitchen was the exact opposite, however. It felt very modern, with stainless steel appliances and black countertops. At first, the stark difference between the two rooms only made his head hurt, but now, Draco thought it as just part of the flat's charm.

He also got an internship at a local Muggle news station. It was a strange sort of occupation for him to be considering, but the opportunity just sort of fell into his lap. He was basically getting paid to watch the more experienced reporters work, so who could complain about that? But after a while, like the flat, Draco began to like his internship. After his third month, Draco began to believe that he could spend the rest of his life behind the camera like his boss, reporting the news.

He had vowed to himself that he would not go anywhere near the Wizarding World for a few years; just until people forgot to hate him and remembered to be intimidated by him again.

But even that bleak plan failed miserably when he received an owl last week giving him strong suggestions of where he would serve his community service. He had the fabulous choice of either being a maid at St. Mungo's or some kind of cart-repair boy for Gringotts.

Of course, he knew nothing about cleaning or fixing things, so either spot was likely to be complete humiliation for him. In the end, he had reluctantly decided that by working at St. Mungo's, he might eventually be taken in as a potion's maker for them (Draco had been the Dark Side's primary Potion's Maker when Severus had been Headmaster of Hogwarts).

Draco sighed and curled up quietly on his comfortable armchair. After a moment, Ferus, Draco's dog, came bounding into the room, wagging his tail and barking madly. Draco reluctantly smiled and let the black Labrador jump all over the place.

"And where have you been, Ferus? Getting me evicted or something?" Draco asked as he watched the dog run amuck in his living room.

The dog stared at him with large, suspiciously guilty eyes and nudged Draco's hand with his snout. Draco glared at the dog sharply, raising an eyebrow warily.

"What have you done this time dog?"

Ferus barked an annoyingly mysterious response and ran out of the room.

Draco sighed again and made to follow him. Honestly, Draco had no idea how he came about owning this brazen, loud and annoying ball of fur in the first place. He never was much of a dog person, preferring to keep the wild animals of the Manor as a sort of zoo, or just as natural wildlife. He never felt much affection for any of the creatures living at the Manor. However, a few days after Draco had bought his flat, he came across this dog bleeding and whining in the alley behind his building. Draco had reluctantly brought it inside and magically healed it, and reluctantly fell in love with the obnoxious mongrel.

However, sometimes he did really want to strangle the animal, Draco thought vaguely as he entered the small kitchen, which at the moment looked as if a tornado had ripped through it. Ferus stood in the middle of the devastation, wagging his tail in a stupidly happy fashion and barking periodically. At his feet was a large, dead rat.

"Bloody hell you stupid dog, are you trying to kill yourself?"

The damned dog only barked happily in response. Draco cast a few diagnostic spells on the stupid animal, and when he was certain Ferus didn't have rabies, he banished the rat away. Draco didn't have the energy to clean the kitchen, so he just turned the light off and motioned for Ferus to follow him.

"You realize you have to be the stupidest dog that ever lived, right?" Draco asked as he collapsed onto his sofa a minute later. Ferus only curled up on the floor directly under Draco, his tail still wagging half-heartedly.

"Honestly, I don't know why I love you so damned much."

Ferus made a strange noise, somewhere between a yelp and a whine, which Draco interpreted to mean 'shut up and pet me'. Draco rolled his eyes and started petting the dog's head absent-mindedly.

"Today was horrible," he remarked to the dog. "I had to tell Stacy that I wouldn't be able to come into work as often as she'd like. Of course I couldn't tell her why, so I made up some lie about going back to school or some bullshit. But honestly, does she actually believe that I would rather be at fucking St. Mungo's than at the station, even if I had told her the truth? I mean, what does she think I am, some kind of masochist?"

Draco paused for a moment, as if expecting Ferus to respond. The dog, however, remained silent. Draco supposed the dumb thing had probably fallen asleep. Draco picked up a book lying on his coffee table. He tried to read, but found that his mind was too preoccupied with his re-entry into the Wizarding World.

"I start my community service tomorrow," he finally said. "So don't be surprised if I come home in worse of a mood than today, okay Ferus?"

The dog growled sleepily in response. Soon, the tiny room began to fill with shadows, but Draco had already fallen into a deep sleep, all worries about tomorrow temporarily forgotten.


	3. Community Service

Predictably, Draco awoke an hour later than planned, had a stabbing pain in his neck and a headache splitting his forehead apart.

Cursing everything in existence, Draco cast a cleaning charm on his rumpled hair and clothes, quickly brushed his teeth and Apparated to St. Mungo's, hoping whoever would be waiting for him wasn't too upset.

"Draco Malfoy," an all too familiar voice called as he appeared in the reception area of the hospital.

He looked around for the source of the voice before spotting her. Hermione Granger stood on the opposite side of the room, her dark blue Healer robes sticking out amid the white-clad mediwizards and patients. Her hair was pulled back into a sleek bun, and she held a clipboard in one of her thin hands.

Draco inwardly cringed.

Of course it would be Hermione Granger. How else could Draco best spend his time in purgatory but with one of the banes of his existence?

Yet again, Draco rued the day he was born.

"I'm not usually late," Draco said by way of greeting. Granger only stared at him sharply before letting out some semblance of a laugh.

"It's good to see you too Malfoy."

She extended her hand, and Draco shook it tentatively. They stood there in awkward silence for a moment, Draco hating his life and Granger watching a waiting patient curiously. After a moment, she shook her head slightly and shoved the clipboard into Draco's grip. She motioned for Draco to follow before she disappeared into a side hallway.

"I know it's probably very difficult for you right now Malfoy," she said once Draco had caught up with her. "The last thing you probably wanted was to spend your community service here at St. Mungo's, but 'the Minister' has suddenly decided that the released Death Eaters should be watched more closely. Sometimes I can't believe we reelected that man into office; the way he's been handling the post-war community is simply ridiculous."

They entered a dingy, slightly cramped room that reminded Draco suddenly of Severus. He felt a pang of grief and regret at this, and forced himself away from thoughts of his friend and mentor. Mountains of paper lay in piles around the floor and nearly covered the tiny desk in the center of the room. Draco suddenly had the feeling that he would be spending the next few days in unendurable boredom.

"I thought you liked Scrimegour," he said to keep the disdainful comment from escaping his mouth.

Granger snorted.

"I grudgingly respect him because the Wizarding community believes in him, but I don't believe that he's done anything right in the past, or anything to help our future."

"Like what?" Draco asked, trying to stall the inevitable. Luckily, Granger must have loved to talk. She gave Draco a strange look before she answered.

"Like forcing you and the others from our grade to act out their community service around people he knows will judge them. I think it's cruel and none of you deserve it."

Draco said nothing, but was silently impressed that Granger wasn't another brainwashed lackey of the Ministry. After another uncomfortable silence, Granger cleared her throat again.

"Well, Malfoy, let's get to it then. You're to be properly filing these medical records alphabetically by disease, treatment, and date. You must check your wand in with me when you arrive and I will reissue it to you when you leave."

She waved her wand and a large filing cabinet appeared in the darkest corner of the room.

"Why you?" Draco asked when she turned to leave.

"No one else trusted you to oversee you here," she replied. "None of the healers wanted to do it, and the Ministry said if the hospital had to send in an Auror then you were dangerous enough to be taken back to Azkaban."

"Oh. So you work here then? As a healer?" Draco asked incredulously.

He had always thought Granger would be an Auror with the rest of her Dream Team (to get the other two out of their messes), so he had never thought she'd want to work at St. Mungo's.

"Yeah," she said, blushing slightly with what Draco assumed to be pride. "The Healers let me skip a few years of apprenticeship because of the War, and I just became a licensed Healer last week."

"Oh."

Granger nodded enthusiastically and began to hurry out of the room.

"Congratulations, by the way, Healer Granger," Draco called out as she disappeared into the hallway.

"It's Weasley now, actually."

Draco furrowed his brow, then sighed and shook his head. He looked at the clipboard in his hands, and realized that Granger—Hermione (if it was a choice between calling her 'Hermione' and 'Weasley', Draco didn't have any problem referring to her by her first name) had mapped out his entire schedule for the next three months.

Well, he thought as he set down the clipboard and surveyed the mess of files on the floor with distaste, at least she gave him the afternoons off.

Five hours later, and Draco half wished that they had just sentenced him to bloody Azkaban again. The so-called 'storage room' had medical cases dating back all the way to the 14th century, ranging from Dragonpox contracted by King George IV to the first official documentation of a werewolf somewhere in Somerset. It was all a giant mess.

And that was just in the first pile he began to sift through. In all honesty, Draco was a mixture of intrigued by the strange cases and annoyed by the tediousness of his work. He was rifling through a strange case when Granger—Hermione appeared at the door again.

"Having fun?" she asked when Draco looked up from the file in his hands.

"Oh yes," he answered sarcastically. "You won't believe how many wizards contracted a form of Troll herpes in the early 1500s."

Gr—Hermione smiled.

"Well, if you listened to Professor Binns in our Sixth year, you would have known that the European Troll war ended in 1498 and began a period of 'free-love' between Trolls and other magical beings spanning 23 years."

"Ok," Draco replied, raising an eyebrow. "Well, if I ever managed to stay awake in Binns' classes long enough to listen to a lecture, I'm sure I must have Obliviated that lesson from my memory. I'm pretty sure I never wanted _that_ sort of image romping through my mind."

They both laughed. It was short lived however, as they both seemed to remember the events of their sixth year. Hermione cleared her throat.

"Listen Malfoy, I drew up your schedule," she said.

"Yeah, I noticed."

"Yes, well, I thought you might like to have the afternoon to yourself, but if you wanted this whole thing to go by faster, we could lengthen your workday from five hours a day to eight. That would end up shaving 37 days of work off of the sentence, but I also figured that statistically, 80 percent of our patients come in from the hours of two through 10 pm., and well, I thought the less people around, the better. And also, I have you working Saturdays as well. I hope that's not a problem, but if it is, we can change it so you work Monday through Friday, even though it would end up stretching your time here from March 5th to March 14th."

Draco was silent, eying her like he'd never quite seen anything like her before. In truth, Draco hadn't. It was a bit scary. In a very un-intimidating, girlish, Hermione-know-it-all-Granger sort of way.

"I guess old habits die hard then," Draco said when he heard Hermione take a breath. "All that over-achieving must have stayed with you."

Hermione furrowed her brow for a second, before laughing nervously. Draco smiled, hoping that she had grown a sense of humor at last.

"The schedule's fine," Draco said. He checked his pocket watch. "And I guess that means that I'm done for the day then."

"Yeah."

Draco stood from his kneeling position on the floor, feeling his joints scream in protest. For how long had he remained in such an uncomfortable spot? Tomorrow, he'll need to remember to sit at the cramped little desk.

"Malfoy?" Hermione asked as he dusted off the front of his slacks. "I was just heading out to lunch with a few of my friends, and I was wondering if you would want to join us."

Draco stared at her, his expression unreadable.

"Are you sure they'd want to have lunch with a former Death Eater? They're liable to turn tail and run off the second they see me."

"I don't think so," she answered, not quite meeting his eyes. "I just think that if you could talk to them, some of the tension would ease for me."

"Oh."

Draco eyed her as she dropped her gaze to one of the piles of parchment on the floor. Well, he reasoned, Draco's life was already miserable enough; what would be so bad about having a quick lunch with a ditsy medi-witch or two?

15 minutes later, Draco was sorely regretting that thought. He had just spent the most uncomfortable five minutes of his life sitting at a small Muggle café with Ron Weasley while Hermione went to order their drinks. Weasley had yet to say a word since Draco had arrived. He would, however, clench his jaw tightly and flex his fingers constantly, as if itching to grab his wand, or maybe strangle Draco right then and there.

"Look," Weasley finally said, sitting up straighter and casting a quick glance around the café. "I only let Hermione watch over you during your little rehabilitation because she didn't want you back in Azkaban. I wouldn't trust you as far as I could throw you."

Draco tried not to cringe at the cliché statement. He tapped his fingers on the tabletop impatiently.

"Well, if you're here to protect your dashing bride from the likes of me-"

"Yeah, I am Malfoy," Weasley sneered evilly. "If I hear one whisper about you doing something even remotely…Malfoyish, then you'll have to answer to the entire Auror department."

At this point, Hermione returned with three steaming mugs.

"I'm sorry Malfoy," she said as she handed him his cup, "they were out of cinnamon and I couldn't very well pull out my wand and conjure some here; I hope you don't mind."

He did mind, very much so.

"It's fine Gran—er—Hermione," he said, setting the mug of coffee on the table lightly.

Hermione slid into the booth next to her Weasel mate.

"Ron, listen, Harry just texted me, and he said that he wouldn't be able to make it for lunch today."

"Wonderful," Weasley huffed. "Now my lunch is really ruined."

"Potter texts?" Draco asked before he could help himself.

"Yeah," Hermione said, a small smile forming on her lips. "Harry and I both have Muggle cell phones; they're so much quicker than an owl for short messages and so much easier too. Ron still can't figure out how they work, so he refuses to buy one."

Weasley shot her a death glare. Hermione ignored him. Briefly, a strange, scheming expression slid across her face, but it was gone before Draco could even wonder what she was up to.

"Do you have a cell phone Malfoy?"

"Why would he Hermione?" Ron asked rudely. "He probably doesn't even know what a phone looks like."

Draco resisted the sudden urge to hex Weasley for his insolence.

"As a matter of fact, I do," Draco said, casting an evil look the Weasel's way. "I at least, have modernized with the end of the War."

He watched Weasley turn a ridiculous shade of maroon before smirking wickedly. He had forgotten how much fun it was to upset people. Hermione shot a quick glare in Weasley's direction, and his expression seemed to deflate.

"That's great Malfoy," she said. "Do you want to trade cell numbers? You know, in case I need to reach you in a hurry about your community service?"

Weasley nearly choked on his tea. He sputtered in the most unbecoming fashion, and Draco couldn't help but smirk.

"Sure," he said, and they quickly exchanged cell numbers.

Draco got home at around 1:30 in the afternoon. Ferus was presumably still asleep on Draco's bed, so he quietly collapsed on the couch again, trying to relax. However, after 15 minutes, he heard a loud bang, a crash, and a large amount of whining coming from the bedroom. Draco rolled his eyes and wearily followed the sound. When he reached the bedroom, he found Ferus on the floor, entangled in Draco's sheets.

"You stupid dog," Draco said, waving his wand and freeing the dog. "You're lucky I have to go in to the damned news station, or you'd be in big trouble."

The dog barked snidely, and Draco only rolled his eyes in response. He pulled on his black trench coat, his favorite cashmere scarf and gloves and headed out on foot to his other life.

Stacy was a tall, slender woman with long black hair and large, violet eyes. She had pale skin and always wore dark tailored suits. She always wore at least four-inch black pumps, which Draco always thought must be torture for her. The effect was one of a very put-together woman who knew more than she said.

She was the anchorwoman at the FFN, a small, local news station which broad casted the news 13 hours a day. She was also the woman who had granted Draco his internship with one of the 'on-site' reporters, and right now, was the one woman whom Draco did not want to have to deal with.

Draco liked Stacy, he really did. She was 32 but still looked like she was in her twenties, so much of the time Draco would forget how old she was. She was a quick, witty, beautiful woman who was very charming. He liked to think of her as an older, Muggle, female version of himself. Which also meant that, when pissed off, she became a ruthless bitch.

Draco entered the station as the weather show was about to start. The camera crew, off-camera writers and weather men were everywhere. Evan Talbot, their chief Meteorologist, was sitting by one of the computers in his 'weather station', as he liked to call it.

Someone called out 'Ten minutes Mr. Talbot!' and Evan looked up sharply. His eyes found Draco immediately and he smiled warmly in greeting.

Evan was 26 and the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome. He had honey-colored eyes and dark chocolate skin. He reminded Draco vaguely of Blaise Zabini. Many who worked with Talbot joked that he only got his job here at the FFN because he had slept with Stacy. Draco personally, didn't believe that story. It was Draco's theory that Stacy started the entire news-station-thing to get the youth interested in current events. Consequently, she would only hire the devastatingly gorgeous for her programs, to ensure the attention of the youth.

Besides, Draco was sure Evan Talbot was gay.

Draco walked up to where Evan was sitting. He flashed Draco a dashing smile and Draco smirked back in response.

"Hello Talbot," Draco said, leaning against the desk casually.

"Hey Draco."

Draco didn't miss Evan's calculating sweep of his assets; it was something Evan did since Draco's first day here.

"I heard rumors that you were leaving us," Evan said when his eyes had settled back on Draco's face.

"Oh really?" Draco answered cryptically. "And you believed them?"

Before Evan had a chance to answer, Draco heard the cool voice of Stacy call out to him.

"Draco, I'd like a word." Draco turned to see Stacy standing by a door to her office.

"Sure thing," he said. Draco sent an apologetic smile to Evan, who only shrugged.

"Two minutes Mr. Talbot!" someone called as Draco made his way towards Stacy.

"What are you doing here Draco?" she asked when Draco entered the brightly lit office.

"Well, you called me, just a few seconds ago, as a matter of fact."

Stacy moved to sit behind her desk. She ruffled a few papers.

"I thought yesterday, you meant that you were quitting."

"I made arrangements," Draco said simply.

Stacy stared at him inscrutably, and Draco had the sudden feeling of getting caught by Professor McGonnagal after lights-out at Hogwarts.

Then, much to his surprise, Stacy smiled.

"That's very good to hear Draco," she said. After a pause, she continued. "Listen, Draco. You've been an intern here for how long?"

"Almost six months now."

"Yes, I know." Draco felt a flash of annoyance suddenly. If she knew, why did she ask? "Now, I really don't want you think that I'm only doing this as an incentive to stay with us, but I want you to be an off-beat reporter for a few weeks, to get the feel of being behind the camera. The ultimate goal is for you to become my co-anchor."

Draco arched an eyebrow, unable to speak for a moment. His mind had gone blank.

"Co-anchor?" he asked weakly.

He could think of nothing else to say, and he couldn't quite keep the excited smile off of his face. Stacy chuckled.

"Yeah, co-anchor," she said fondly. "And just so you know, I was going to tell you this last night. That's why I sort of, you know-"

"Exploded?"

"I wouldn't call it that, exactly. Why I reacted so… adversely towards your apparent resignation."

"I see," Draco was still smiling like a loon. He bit his lower lip. "That sounds great Stacy."

"Great," Stacy stood and straightened her skirt in a nervous gesture. She cleared her throat. "Well, I expect you here at one-thirty starting tomorrow. You will be working with Ted Ross this week and next. After that, you'll be at on-site locations reporting live. If that goes well, we'll make the transition to co-anchor."

"Ok, great," Draco said. "Err, well, what should I do…now?"

Stacy flushed as a strange look crossed her face.

"Oh, well, since I thought you weren't coming back, we don't have anything for you to do today. If you wanted you could file some of our old tax returns down in the back room. I've been trying to get someone to clean that place up for weeks now."

Draco couldn't help but laugh. He was not going to do any filing outside of St. Mungo's for a while, not if he could help it.

"I think I'll just go home," he said. "If that's fine?"

"Yeah," Stacy said a little breathlessly. "That's fine."

"Ok then," and with one final glance in Stacy's direction, Draco went back out into the newsroom.

He would have Apparated straight home if he hadn't remembered at the last second that he was surrounded by Muggles. He wanted to, _needed _to tell someone how much this meant to him. He watched Evan finish up his weather report for a while. Suddenly, however, he realized that he really didn't want to tell Evan about this. Sure, he flirted with the man sometimes, but he didn't really care about him. He was handsome enough, and obviously was attracted to Draco, but he wasn't sure he felt the same way about the other man.

Then, with a sinking feeling in his stomach, Draco realized that he didn't really have anyone to tell. One of the downsides to not having friends, he thought with a frown. Draco rushed out when he saw Evan making his way towards him and nearly ran home once he stepped out into the biting cold, unsure where the strange sense of dread had suddenly come from.

It was only two, and Ferus was still asleep. Damn dog, Draco thought irritably. So still a strange mixture of excited and disappointed, Draco did the only thing he could think of doing.

He phoned Hermione.


	4. Scrimegour and the Head Auror

It wasn't too difficult to fall into a state of complacency with his new routine. Draco would wake up every morning, get to St. Mungo's at seven and work until noon. He'd normally go out to a small lunch with Hermione, who was quickly becoming a good friend, before Apparating home. From there he'd change quickly and walk to the studio, where he'd stay until five-thirty. Thankfully, he had the weekends off with the FFN, but throughout the week, Draco was exhausted.

It was a good sort of exhaustion though, so he couldn't really complain. After two weeks, Draco had finished filing away the medical files. Hermione told him that she had gained permission from her superiors for him to start doing more interesting work, as she called it. Which was why today, Draco was somewhere on the sixth floor of St. Mungo's instead of on the ground floor as usual.

Hermione was waiting for him when he arrived. Her hair was down today, done in loose curls that flowed over her shoulders. She smiled when Draco approached and handed him a set of truly horrendous white robes.

"What is this?" he asked, wrinkling his nose in distaste as he handed her his wand.

"That is your temporary medical lab coat. You'll need it if you're to work with our more permanent residents."

"What? No Hermione," he said, trying to hand her back the coat. "White is not my color; it makes me look pale and sickly. Someone might mistake me for a patient. Besides, I can't work with people; you know how I get with them."

"Oh yes," she rolled her eyes, "Draco becomes a Malfoy, pretentious, arrogant and supercilious. I know that Draco, and I'm really sorry. I tried to get you a job down in the medicinal potions lab, but they…well-"

"They think I'm likely to poison someone?"

Draco stared at the hideous coat petulantly. Of course, after all this time fooling himself into believing that people were changing their minds about him, he would discover that the rest of the world was just like Weasley.

"Well, the Auror Department put it as 'not putting you into a position of temptation'."

" 'Temptation'," he repeated, his anger starting to flare. "As if I would want to poison sick witches and wizards? What do they think I am-"

"A Death Eater, Malfoy," an annoyingly familiar voice said from behind him. Draco closed his eyes and hoped he had at last gone insane.

"Harry! I told you this wouldn't be necessary-"

"I was sent here by Shacklebolt to make sure nothing happened."

"But you know he only thought Draco might try something because of Ron! You know how Ron is; he would arrest Draco himself if he even had a shred of evidence-"

Goddammit. Draco must have the worst luck in all of England. He opened his eyes, and sure enough, there stood the form of Harry Bloody Potter, his blood red robes doing horrible things to his complexion and his wand out in a defensive stance. He turned away from his argument with Hermione to scrutinize Draco. Potter stopped wearing his glasses evidently, Draco thought vaguely. At least someone had the courage to tell him those specs were ghastly.

"Hello Potter," Draco said in a mostly pleasant voice. "Has anyone ever told you you look absolutely awful in red?"

Potter looked a little taken aback, as if that had been the last thing he had been expecting. By his side, Draco heard Hermione sigh in frustration.

"No, actually," Potter remarked. His green eyes were boring into Draco, as if searching his soul. "Listen Malfoy, Hermione's right. I'm only here because of Ron. He asked me to keep an eye on you for a few days, to make sure you're not up to anything. He doesn't trust you, but Hermione does, and-"

"How observant of you Potter," he said snidely. Hermione nudged him slightly, and he reluctantly put on the coat and turned to Hermione. "So what exactly am I going to be doing?"

"Well, you'll be with the permanent residents of St. Mungo's, mostly in the Albatross ward." She handed Draco a heavy key chain. "The doors are charmed so that they can't be opened with spells, so remember to lock the doors when you get in and leave; some of the patients have a tendency to wander."

"Are they dangerous?" he asked, refusing to acknowledge Potter.

"To themselves they may be, but not to anyone else. Harry will be keeping an eye on you this week, by next Monday," she shot a glare at Potter, "he'll be out of your hair."

She hugged Potter and gave Draco one last apologetic smile.

"Don't do anything unreasonable Harry," she said firmly.

"I won't," he answered softly. "I'm not Ron."

"I'll see you at noon Draco," and with a swirl of her robes, she was gone.

Bloody hell, Draco thought as he stood there in silence with Potter for nearly a minute, why didn't they just kill him now and get it over with?

"Don't you have something to do?" Potter asked unnecessarily.

Draco sighed. Something told him this was going to be the longest week of his life. He looked down at the bundle of keys and noticed each one had a room number on it. He unlocked the door to room 600 and went in, Potter following along in his wake.

Hermione apparently had gone through each room Draco needed to visit and wrote his duties on an index card attached to each patient's medical status. Draco couldn't see why anyone would voluntarily take on a job as boring as this. After four hours, he and Potter were sitting in room 620, watching the comatose patient as he would periodically have 'debilitating tremors and seizures'.

The job was probably a lot more interesting if you were getting paid to do it, Draco reflected after nearly five minutes of complete silence between him, the patient and Potter. And if you weren't being shadowed by an Auror who was probably itching to find an excuse to hex you.

"I know I look terrible in these robes," Potter said suddenly after an unendurable silence. Draco turned his attention away from the sleeping patient and was abruptly struck by the color of Potter's eyes again. Those glasses had been hiding the most expressive emerald eyes Draco had ever seen.

"Really?" he asked, not entirely sure he remembered what Potter had said in the first place.

"Yes." Potter stood suddenly and began to pace. "They make me look ruddy and flustered and angry, but no one seems to want to say so."

"So you keep wearing those things so someone will tell the Savior of the Wizarding World that he looks bad?"

"No," he answered sullenly. "Not really anyway. They're standard issue for Aurors, but you're not required to wear them. Most of the time I just wear my black robes."

"So you got all dressed up just for me? Well Potter, I'm flattered, but next time, please don't."

There was a pause in which Draco supposed Potter was trying to think up some lame come-back to his insult.

"No Malfoy, I didn't do this for you. I didn't even think I'd be here today. I was going to conduct a social experiment this morning, but then Shacklebolt gave me this assignment…"

Was it just Draco's imagination, or did Potter look slightly uncomfortable?

" 'Social experiment' huh?" he asked, raising his eyebrow skeptically. "What does that entail, exactly?"

Potter suddenly got a mischievous glint in his eyes. Draco would be lying if said he didn't find it a little charming. Where had that thought come from? He thought suddenly, and forced those sorts of thoughts from his mind.

"There's a small banquet tonight in honor of Kingsley Shacklebolt's retirement. He's planning on naming his successor as Head Auror, so there's bound to be plenty of media there, and well, I just wanted to see what they'd write about me."

"Oh," Draco said. "I guess you have to find a way to have some fun with _Witch Weekly_ on you all the time."

"Yeah," Potter said, a hint of a smile on his face. They lapsed into another silence, except this time, it was a little more bearable.

"So Shacklebolt's retiring?" Draco asked after a moment. Potter shook his head in silent acquiescence. "Why?"

"Well, everyone's been saying that it's for his health and that he doesn't want to end up like Alastor," Potter said. He chuckled slightly. "But I talked to Shacklebolt a few days ago; he said he's doing it mostly because he can't stand Scrimegour poking into the Auror department anymore."

"Oh? What's he doing that's got Shacklebolt in a twist?"

Potter cleared his throat. He cast a quick glance at the still sleeping patient; as if fearful he might wake up and start eavesdropping.

"Well, I don't think I'm allowed to tell you, but Shacklebot and I both think that since it involves you at least indirectly…"

Draco's stomach felt suddenly heavier. Potter looked away and seemed to interest himself with the sleeve of his robes.

"Why? What do you mean? Potter?"

He looked up and an indefinable expression crossed his face.

"The Minister believes that we need to renew our efforts into confiscating, permanently, any property a convicted Death Eater might have used for the side of evil. But don't worry;" Potter added hastily at the look on Draco's face, "right now he's just blowing a lot of hot air. Shacklebolt is determined not to make it harder for any of the younger Death Eaters."

"But he's retiring," Draco said, pessimistic. "What if whoever he chooses as his successor believes the same thing Scrimegour does?"

Draco felt the beginnings of panic start to grip his heart, and fought to keep it at bay. He couldn't lose Malfoy Manor; he just _couldn't._

"He won't Malfoy," Potter said firmly. Draco felt the sudden urge to laugh hysterically.

"They all hate me down there Potter," he replied. "They hate all of us. Weasley's a perfect example of that, and Scrimegour himself. Whoever Shacklebolt names as his successor will love to take our money, our property. What happens if-"

"Malfoy, listen," Potter was watching Draco intently, deep green eyes piercing his very soul. "Nothing's going to happen to anyone's property."

"What makes you so sure?"

But at that moment, Draco heard a sharp rapping at the door, and Hermione's voice calling out that it was noon. He ran a hand through his hair and searched Potter with his stare. He knew they were thinking the same thing; he could tell from the way Potter's eyes seemed to harden. Draco nodded curtly, and Potter returned the gesture. Quickly, Draco unlocked the inmate's door and they both exited.

"Draco," Hermione called just as he was about to start the journey down six flights of stairs. "Are you coming to lunch with us? I promise I'll make Harry behave."

She cast a teasing glance Potter's way, who smiled indulgently in return. Draco fixed him with a piercing stare before answering.

"No thanks Hermione," he said after a pause. "I was worked to Death today. I don't feel much like an Eater right now, more like a going home and sleeping person, actually."

He smirked at Potter, who chuckled slightly in response. Hermione gave Draco a confused look before smiling brightly.

"That's fine Draco," she said happily. "Rain check?"

"Please." He smiled warmly at her, and began the arduous task of escaping St. Mungo's.

He hadn't been lying when he told Hermione that he wasn't hungry, but now, as he was given his first on-camera news beat, Draco was seriously wishing he had eaten something. Hell, he probably should have had a strong drink. Anything to help him prepare for the shock awaiting him when he arrived at the news station.

"Draco? Are you listening to me?" Stacy asked when Draco had failed to respond to her question.

"Minister's chief bodyguard's retiring," Draco said in a voice that could have been a whisper. "Throwing a small going-away party in his honor. Announcing his replacement." He held up the manila envelope she had handed him. "Directions; time."

Stacy frowned.

"Are you all right Draco? You sound a bit off."

Draco cleared his throat, desperately trying to hide the dread forming in his stomach. He flashed Stacy a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Perfect Stacy," he said. "Now, where're Ross and the camera crew?"

Ted Ross was another one of those too good-looking to be true kind of men, but this one was very obviously straight. He had dark chestnut hair that he wore long and that hung in loose curls around his neck. He had bright eyes, very full lips and a strong jaw. He was the sort of guy who could have any kind of girl he wanted and, consequently, didn't have any kind of girl at all.

He was also one of the best reporters the FFN had to offer, so Draco wasn't hesitant to let him explain everything while Draco listened. Also, the fact that he had a very easy voice to listen to helped a lot. However, even Ross' soothing encouragement was not enough to stop Draco's raging anxiety. Ross only knew half of the problem.

"You'll be fine Draco," Ross said as they sat in the news van twenty minutes until six. "Just make sure to flash that smile of yours and you'll be golden. Plus, I'll be there to make sure you don't do anything stupid."

"Oh, thanks Ross. Thank you for that vote of confidence," Draco said, but smiled anyway. He took a deep breath. "Okay, I'm ready."

"Great."

In actuality, he wasn't ready, but that problem wasn't going to be solved hyperventilating in the FFN news van. Draco just had to face his fears and go into that room, Wizarding folk and Muggles alike.

God, did he just use the word 'folk'? He really was losing his mind. Well, honestly! What kind of arse was Fate, or chance, or Providence anyway? It must really hate Draco to make him go to this damned banquet in the first place. He had not divulged to the Ministry of Magic that he had this new job; his probation contract was vague at best on that issue, but he didn't like the idea of surprising what he was sure to be a room full of Aurors with this information. Worst yet, he'd have to _interview_ Shacklebot and his successor, once named. Would the others even let him do so? What if Ross started asking questions?

Draco officially hated his life. Again. Shit, why couldn't he have gone to that fucking car accident instead?

"Okay Draco," Ross said when they were outside the posh ballroom. "Let's practice a few introductions before we go in. Remember, they aren't letting the camera crew in for security purposes, so you'll have to take good notes to make sure you don't misquote anyone. Kev, can you start the camera, just so Draco can get the feel of all those bright lights?"

Ross handed him a microphone, and after a few seconds, the camera was on. Ross counted down with his fingers, and then the little red light went off on the camera, showing Draco it was time.

"Prime Minister Alan's Chief Bodyguard, Kingsley Shacklebolt, announces today his retirement and names his successor. Hi, this is Draco Malfoy, reporting from outside the Idiom Ballroom. More on this, coming up next. Stay tuned."

The little red light went off, and Draco breathed a sigh of relief. By the camera, Ross was smiling.

"Perfect Draco," he said. "We'll finish the segment once we have all the info."

Ross started rifling through the pockets of his mangled old trench coat, and Draco began to look around. He recognized vehicles from some of the local print media and also noticed that some of the guests were starting to arrive. So far, he had yet to see anyone from the Ministry of Magic, which was lightening Draco's mood a bit.

"Here're our press passes," Ross said, holding out two laminated IDs on chains. "Don't forget to pay close attention to everything Minister Alan says, as well as Shacklebolt. You've been granted an exclusive interview with Shacklebolt and his successor, so be on the lookout for them as well."

"All right," Draco said, unable to suppress the tiny waver in his voice.

Then Draco saw _them_, and all of the color drained from his face. He supposed Potter saw him at the same time Draco saw Potter. Their eyes met instantly. Even from their considerable distance (Draco was at least 20 meters from the entranceway) Draco could see the confusion that floated over his features. He had his arm around a dark-haired woman that Draco did not recognize. He did, however, recognize the mop of flaming red hair walking a few steps behind Harry, and the brunette by his side. Luckily for Draco, Ron had yet to spot him, and Hermione, though sending him an encouraging smile, said nothing to alert her husband otherwise.

"Draco? Hey, Draco? Yo, is anyone in there?" Ross waved his hand in front of Draco's face playfully, forcing his eyes away from the Dream Team. "What is it? You look like you've just seen a ghost."

"Just a few ghosts of the past, I'm afraid," Draco said dispassionately. "Come on, let's go."

"Just remember Drake," Ross reminded him as they entered the building. "Keep smiling. That smile of yours will win over everyone here."

"Not everyone, I think," Draco whispered under his breath.

"What was that?"

Ross was looking around the hall, looking very impressed. Draco supposed this was the first black tie event Ross had ever attended. He was right to be impressed, at any rate. Draco was suddenly reminded of the extravagant parties his parents would throw years ago, and a stab of regret tore threw him suddenly.

"I said don't ever call me Drake again," Draco lied.

Ross only laughed.

They spent the next 20 minutes trying to blend in with the wallpaper, getting a feel for the atmosphere and scoping out a few possible candidates for the Chief Bodyguard position. Once they were inside, Draco spotted many Ministry workers who threw a few suspicious glances his way. Luckily, Ross didn't notice.

After the fourth time he scanned the ballroom, Draco began to realize that his gaze seemed to be magnetically attracted to Potter and his friends. They would be the first group Draco would analyze, and just before writing some stray thought on his notepad, he would cast another glance in their direction.

Weasley had apparently seen Draco at some point during the evening. Periodically, he would send Draco a threatening glare, pulling up his untailored pant leg slightly to reveal a wand holster strapped there. One time Potter caught him doing this, and much to Draco's surprise; he nudged Ron in an irritated sort of way and muttered something to his friend. A sheepish expression crossed his face and he yanked down his pant leg, face reddening.

Draco wasn't sure what that meant. He wanted to believe that Potter was beginning to trust him after all, but he wasn't entirely sure why he needed Potter's trust so badly. Besides, Potter was watching Draco during the day, and he'd only been doing so for one day. Nevertheless, when Potter sent him the embarrassed smile after Weasley had wandered off, it lit something inside of Draco that he was sure had died long ago.

But then that woman with the dark hair, who Draco finally recognized as Cho Chang, would appear at his side, and a quite different feeling would spring up inside of him. If Draco didn't know any better, he'd say it was not unlike jealousy, but that was ridiculous. Why would Draco be jealous of Chang?

Draco was pulled out of his musings when Ross tapped him on the shoulder and pointed towards a slightly raised platform. The Prime Minister was standing, commanding everyone's attention. After some scattered applause, he began to speak.

"Welcome, thank you all for coming."

His eyes passed over the nearly full ballroom, smiling slightly. For some reason, Draco was forcefully reminded of Professor Dumbledore. An aching sorrow tore through him again as Minister Alan continued.

"You all know why you're here, so I won't bother to mention it. I doubt Kingsley will want to be reminded that he's getting old anyway."

A burst of laughter followed this statement, and Draco watched Ross jot down the episode on his notepad.

"What can I say about Kingsley Shacklebolt?" Draco started scribbling key phrases- "He may just have been my bodyguard, but he was also so much more than that. Kingsley was my friend, a guardian angel of sorts, and I will miss him by my side. However, I am happy for him. He's found a way out of this mess we call politics, and I'm sure he and I will have much more fun when there isn't the possibility of my safety ruining our quality time."

There was another polite round of applause at this statement.

"So, I know Kingsley isn't one for speaking publicly, but he did want to say something to you all tonight."

The entire crowd seemed to hold its breath as Shacklebolt stood. He made a show of dusting off his graying trousers before speaking to the crowd. There was a hint of a smile on his face as he surveyed the crowd like someone with years of experience in categorizing every detail. His eyes met with Draco's for a split second before moving on again.

"Thank you all for coming to watch me fire myself," a chuckle seemed to ripple through the crowd. "I've been at this for a while, and I've finally realized that I want to leave this job willingly before it hands me to my grandchildren in an unsatisfying way. I know my successor will have no problem insuring your Minister's safety. Harry Potter, where are you? Get up here!"

No. Draco felt his shock and anger build up at the sheer unfairness of life. He'd have to interview Potter too? Draco wanted to scream. It seemed, however, that Draco wasn't the only one surprised by this decision. Whispers began to buzz around the room like bees as Potter made his way to Shacklebolt's side. Against his will, Draco couldn't help notice that Potter looked so much better in his slim fit suit than those ghastly red robes. If it wasn't Potter, Draco would have thought he looked handsome. Shame he was here with Chang, and that he was Potter.

"Now I know Mr. Potter's a bit young for many of your likings," Shacklebolt said, glaring at the Muggles in particular, "but this young man has saved my life, and the lives of many of my team, on more than one occasion. I'm sure he's more than up to the job."

Draco snorted. He couldn't help but doubt that last statement. Potter looked ready to hide under a table. His eyes locked with Draco's for a second, and Draco could all but feel Potter's self-doubt. Draco wrote something down on his notepad, smiling at Potter all the while. Luckily for Potter, he wasn't asked to speak, and after a while the clamor subdued a bit.

"What do you think of that Harry Potter character?" Ross asked when the Minister had gone back to his seat.

Draco flushed a little, caught off guard.

"What do you mean?" he asked quickly. Ross smirked at him.

"Don't even try to play it off Drake," he said smoothly. "You forget I've got an eagle eye. I've been watching you two exchange…_looks_ all night."

Draco raised an eyebrow skeptically.

" 'Looks'?" he repeated. Ross only smiled at him expectantly. "It's nothing. I just- we knew each other at school, that's all. And I thought I told you not to call me Drake."

"High school sweethearts then?"

Draco rolled his eyes and had the urge to laugh. Ross truly was the dumbest smart person he ever knew.

"Actually, we couldn't stand each other, and I think he's straight."

"Really now?" Ross answered cryptically. Draco refused to say another word on the subject, and after a minute, Ross grew frustrated and told him to go interview his people.

Draco had just finished interviewing Shacklebolt, and had been looking for Potter when he caught sight of Weasley and Hermione having what looked like a heated argument. Weasley saw Draco first, and started making a bee-line towards him, Hermione following a few paces behind. She gave Draco an exasperated look and mouthed the words 'just avoid him'. Draco, not wanting to defend himself against an Auror in a room full of Aurors, quickly took the advice.

Weaving in and out of the crowds of people, Draco soon lost the agitated Weasel. He was in a relatively empty portion of the ballroom, with a wall separating it from the rest of the space. A large, heavy tapestry blocked off a narrow hallway as well. His curiosity piqued, Draco cast one last weary glance around the room to make sure no one was watching him, and slipped behind the tapestry.

The hallway was tiny, with only one electric torch lit on the other end. Two figures stood under the small pool of light, arguing intensely. Draco recognized them both immediately. Minister Scrimegour stood with his back to the darkness, and Potter was pacing nervously in the tiny puddle of light, clearly anxious. Potter's gaze immediately lifted to the darkness where Draco stood, as if hearing his thoughts. By his side, Scrimegour continued to rant.

"Listen to me Potter; I will not say this again. As long as I am Minister, my authority rules. The Ministry of Magic belongs to me, and I will not tolerate anarchy. If I could have, I would have overridden your promotion, but-"

"I don't mean to doubt you, Minister," Potter said slowly, a smirk playing on his face. He turned his attention back towards Scrimegour. "But wouldn't your inability to keep me from this position mean your authority isn't total?"

Scrimegour nearly growled. Draco would have laughed if he wasn't afraid of what would happen should he be found. Scrimegour pointed a gnarled finger at Potter.

"I will not be patronized Potter," he said quietly. "I will not offend you publicly because you are our Golden Boy. However, if you intend to stand in my way, consider it a declaration of war."

With that he turned and began to walk away. Straight towards the darkness where Draco was hiding. Trapped, Draco began to panic. What would happen if the Minister found him eavesdropping on a clearly confidential conversation? Would he consider it due cause to arrest Draco? Hex him?

"You cannot win a public war against me, Minister," Harry called out brazenly after him.

Scrimegour stopped dead in his tracks. He turned to face Potter again slowly, every line in his face etched with loathing.

"Watch your tongue boy," he said fiercely. "Head Auror or no, you still have to answer to me. Remember that."

With a loud _crack, _Scrimegour was gone. Potter sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

"That was close Malfoy," Potter said after a pause. "He nearly ran right into you."

Draco, still shocked by what he just witnessed, couldn't think to do anything but move closer to the light.

"You saw me?" he finally asked.

"Yeah." When Draco glared at him curiously, Potter elaborated. "After I Magically corrected my eyesight, it's a lot easier to spot reflectors in the dark. I-er…I saw your hair. That's how I knew it was you."

Potter seemed suddenly flustered, and Draco couldn't figure out why.

"What are you doing here anyway?" Potter asked in a slightly breathless voice.

"I was looking for you." Then, realizing how strange that sounded, Draco quickly amended himself. "For an interview. I…well, I work at a news station now and I need to ask you a couple of questions."

"Oh," Potter answered. He almost sounded disappointed. "That's fine, I guess."

***

"Kingsley Shacklebolt, after serving 10 years as Prime Minister Alan's chief bodyguard, announced tonight his retirement. During a small farewell party organized by Minister Alan, Shacklebolt announced that he was ready to spend his time with his family. Shacklebolt said that his successor, 19-year-old Harry Potter, would be more than capable of taking his place. Potter, who has been with the Ministry's Protection Agency for 14 months, said he was both surprised and humbled by the promotion. He said that while never expecting this sort of honor to fall on him, he would be more than ready to protect the Prime Minister under any circumstances. Thank you; I'm Draco Malfoy with FFN's evening news. Coming up, the latest update on a devastating Trolley accident that left 15 wounded, four in critical condition, and one person missing. Stay tuned."


	5. The Heir

When Draco sauntered into St. Mungo's the next morning, he was not expecting Potter to be there anymore. He figured that, as Head Auror, Potter had much more important things to do now. In all honesty, this disappointed Draco a little. Potter was a fascinating person, and Draco wanted to get to know this Harry Potter that Draco had never known existed during school.

So he was not at all surprised when Hermione stood alone in the sixth floor corridor, but something in his stomach did sink. He forced a smile, which she returned somewhat sleepily.

"Tired?" he asked by way of greeting as he handed over his wand.

"You have no idea." She pocketed his wand and handed him the day's clipboard of patients. "When we got home last night, Ron had a complete fit. I don't even know what he was expecting Harry to do as Head Auror, but when Harry said he wouldn't listen to Scrimegour, Ron nearly exploded. He still doesn't trust you, you know, and he was completely floored by the fact that Harry and I trust you. Honestly, sometimes that Ronald can be so nearsighted…"

"Potter said he trusted me?" Draco asked before he could stop himself.

"Of course I trust you," Potter's voice said from directly behind him. Draco nearly jumped out of his skin. "Ron just can't get past old differences."

"Harry! I've told you not to sneak up on people like that!" Hermione said irritably. Apparently she too, had jumped at Potter's sudden appearance. "You'll give someone a heart attack!"

Harry smiled a bit sheepishly, and sent Draco a helpless look.

"Sorry Hermione, it's just a habit."

"A very nasty habit! One that's bound to get you into trouble one of these days, too. What if we had been talking about something confidential?"

"All right Hermione, jeez. Even though you're just upset that I always manage to startle you, I'll refrain from using my expert stealth skills against you."

"Why thank you very much Mr. Harry Potter. You are doing the world a service," she said, playing along. She turned to Draco. "I'll see you two at noon then?"

Draco nodded and she rushed off, presumably to help some poor injured wizard in need. After a longer and more awkward pause than usual, Draco cleared his throat and went to work.

The day passed with no real interruption. Potter said nothing for nearly all five hours, merely content to watch Draco work. Draco found that he didn't mind this as much as he thought he would. Potter didn't cause him any problems, at any rate.

"I watched your news segment," Potter said suddenly after hours of silence.

Draco felt a strange mixture of embarrassment and pride. He turned to Mr. Comatose, who they were watching again, before he spoke.

"Did you now?" he asked. After a pause, he added hesitantly, "What did you think?"

Potter smiled brightly.

"It was great. I know it was only a short segment, but you were really good. And also, I'm glad you didn't twist my words around."

"Why would I do that? You think I want to get fired?"

A strange expression crossed Potter's face. If Draco didn't know any better, he would have thought that Potter looked slightly self-satisfied.

"Someone who couldn't be trusted would do that sort of thing," Potter answered. "Someone out for revenge. I tried to explain this to Ron, but…"

Potter trailed off, a slight flush staining his high cheekbones.

"Well, thanks," Draco said after another long pause. Honestly, what was with them and long, uncomfortable silences?

Draco checked the clock, and saw it was five minutes until noon. This didn't necessarily raise Draco's spirits, however. Between them, five minutes could stretch into an eternity.

Finally, the longest five minutes of Draco's life came to an end when Hermione rapped loudly on the door. Draco bolted up from his seat at the far side of the room before Potter could say anything to confuse him any more than he already was.

Draco somehow arrived home that afternoon, but he wasn't entirely sure how. His mind was so preoccupied with what had happened over the last couple of days that before Draco realized it, he was being attacked by a very hyper Ferus.

"What is with you, dog?" he asked as the bulk of fur ran wildly around the small apartment, barking its head off.

It skidded to a halt at Draco's feet, and gave Draco the most exasperated look an excited Labrador could give before practically pushing him into the kitchen. The place was a mess, yet again. Ferus was barking happily at Draco's cabinets, and sitting atop his tallest one was a very angry raccoon.

"Sometimes I think you like bringing rabid animals into this house Ferus," Draco said lamely as he watched the dog attempt to reach the raccoon by jumping onto the table and barking at it. "You won't get it down like that dummy. You've got to banish it...Go on, I'm waiting."

The table gave an ominous crack as Ferus began jumping around, looking for some other route to the pesky bandit. Draco quickly banished the raccoon and heaved the lumbering dog off of the table. The dog wagged its tail madly and ran off again. Draco smiled.

He checked his watch and had the sudden urge to skip work today.

"You want to go out this afternoon Ferus?" he called out to the dog. Ferus made a high-pitched yapping sound that Draco took to be a yes. "All right then; I don't need telling twice."

With a smile, Draco called Stacy and told her he'd be out sick for the day. When Draco had changed to his muggle day clothes (a pair of stonewashed jeans, dark blue tee and black blazer) Ferus was waiting by the door, an expectant look on his canine features. Draco rolled his eyes.

"I'm coming."

As an afterthought, he called Hermione and asked her if she wanted to meet up at a muggle park close to Draco's house. After only a bit of persuading, Draco gave her directions to the place and a time to meet him, and they were out the door.

***

By the time Draco and Ferus got home, the sun had set and Draco was feeling particularly tired. He had no sooner changed into his pajama pants that he collapsed on his bed and went straight to sleep. However, he awoke frequently throughout the night by a sudden sense of dread. His dreams were strange and disturbing, yet every time he awoke, the details would trickle through his consciousness, eluding him entirely. He awoke the next morning feeling restless and uneasy.

***

The rest of the week passed mostly without incident. He and Potter eventually agreed that if they had to endure one more morning of strained silence, they would both go insane, so they had a few forced conversations every now and again.

He had to admit to himself that he liked spending time with Potter. Draco considered him a sort of intellectual equal, although he would never admit it out loud. And there was just something about him that genuinely interested Draco. When Draco had asked him about Cho Chang, Potter had flushed a little in embarrassment (which Draco found unnaturally adorable) and told him that he had only been acting as Chang's date to keep her troublesome ex-boyfriend away. When Draco had heard this, a knot in his stomach he hadn't even realized was there loosened. He still wasn't entirely sure what Potter thought of him, but then he'd remember Potter saying 'of course I trust you' and something inside of him would feel lighter.

Which was why he wasn't much looking forward to today, Potter's last day "keeping an eye on him". Draco hoped that he could muster up the courage to ask Potter if they could possibly be friends and hang out sometime. Draco had realized Wednesday that he seriously needed to get a social life when he had decided on going to the movies, and the only person he could convince to come along had been Ferus. Needless to say, Draco stayed in that night, brooding and feeling as lonely as he had since the end of the war.

Draco was the type of person that needed company; he craved it really. Without friends, Draco would shrivel up into a shadow of himself. This is what had happened at the end of the war, when everyone who respected him had died or was spending time in Azkaban. Draco had felt like he had left one sort of hell for an entirely new kind after Azkaban.

His job at the FFN helped a lot, however. Ross was like an older brother to him now, and Talbot was someone Draco liked talking to. He wasn't sure how he'd react if Talbot one day swallowed his pride and asked Draco out. It wasn't that he didn't like Talbot; he was just so _dull_. Once you got passed the TV persona, good looks and weather-talk, he was about as interesting as drying laundry. Then there was Hermione. She had quickly become Draco's closest friend, his only friend outside of work really, and he was very grateful for her.

However, three people were not enough to satisfy Draco's outgoing nature. He missed the days when Lucius and his mother would throw extravagant dinner parties, and he could stand by his father and talk to the adults there like he was their equal. He missed his little entourage from school. What had happened to them anyway? Draco wondered. The last Draco heard, Parkinson had married some Scottish wizard from relatively new money, Zabini was spending a few years in Singapore, and Goyle was at Gringotts completing his community service.

Just before heading out to St. Mungo's Friday morning, Draco noticed a thick envelope lying on his coffee table, on top of a thin package. He hadn't seen it the day before, and his curiosity was piqued. He opened the envelope and pulled out several sheets of folded parchments. As he read them, however, Draco's curiosity quickly dissipated. A cold, relentless grief began to grip him, making it suddenly hard to breathe. A thick metal band had wrapped itself around Draco's heart and was slowly tightening.

The first sheet of parchment was a letter from the Minsitry of Magic, coldly informing Draco that his mother had passed away sometime that night, for reasons yet unknown. She had been staying at the Manor, so her death was being investigated to see if it might have been caused by something in the house. Draco wanted to rip that paper to shreds. This is how the Ministry dared to inform Draco that his own _mother _had died? It seemed so unfair suddenly; everything he'd been working for felt like a lie. Like at the first opportunity, the Minstry would sweep them all under the rug. He wanted to scream.

The second sheet was a copy of Narcissa's last will and testament. Ever since Lucius had been sentenced to life in Azkaban, he had handed her the deeds to the Malfoy Manor and all of the Malfoy money. She willed it all to Draco, everything from the Malfoy Manor to the Black Family house in the outskirts of Surrey. Draco could feel deep cracks forming inside of him, trenches and gorges that used to be filled suddenly empty. The room started to spin.

The third sheet was the one that Draco really cared about. He could distinguish his mother's long, elegant script anywhere, and there was no doubt that this note had been written by her. It was very short, but Draco cherished it all the same. It was all that he had left of his mother.

_Draco,_

_I had one of our house elves keep this note in the event of my death. In the box that comes along with this note are the documents to all of your belongings. The Malfoy Manor is yours now, as is everything else. I'm sorry things had to be this way, my son. Just know that I am proud of you, and no matter what you choose to do in your life, I will always be proud of you._

_-Narcissa Black Malfoy_

_Post Script._

_Watch over your father for me. Keep him safe._

Tears were beginning to blur his vision as he reread the letter time after time. He couldn't believe it. How could she be dead? But then, if Draco really thought about it, when was the last time he had checked up on her? He hadn't been able to speak with her in so long now, not since he had moved out of the Manor. She had looked so sad then, disappointed that Draco would leave her to tend to the Manor alone. Shame began to course through him now as well as grief, and he nearly cried out.

Ferus must have sensed Draco's grief because in an instant he was at Draco's side, nudging Draco's leg with his nose. He looked down at the dog and gave it a watery smile. He got down on his knees and hugged Ferus roughly.

"This can't be happening Ferus," he said miserably. "How could they just send me a letter? 'We regret to inform you that Narcissa Black Malfoy is deceased.' Just like that! What do they think we are, yesterday's garbage?"

Draco fell silent, anger boiling up along with his shame and grief. He buried his face in Ferus' fur, willing his tears away. It wasn't working however; if anything, the thick warm fur made him want to bawl his eyes out even more.

"You smell like dirt," Draco said after a while.

Ferus wagged its tail as if this was some kind of compliment, and Draco smiled weakly. After another few seconds, Draco stood and wiped at his face roughly.

"Malfoy's don't cry," he said to himself, repeating Lucius' mantra from what felt like centuries ago. "I…I've got to go to St. Mungo's Ferus! They're likely to think I've escaped or gone after the Minister or something! How long have I-"

But just then, there was a knock on his door. Draco moaned, hoping he wasn't about to be arrested. When Draco opened the door, there stood Potter, looking extremely uncomfortable.

Draco knew he looked like he had been crying. His eyes must still have been red, and his mother's note was still clutched tightly in his right hand. Draco nearly laughed at the irony. So they sent the Head Auror to take him away then?

Draco thought he might have been hysterical. He didn't care all that much, however. He had the sudden urge to throw himself into Potter's arms and hope that the Wonder Boy could make everything better.

"Hey Malfoy. Err," Potter stopped, clearly at a loss for what to say. He ran a hand nervously through his dark, messy hair and eyed the parchment in Draco's hand. "Hermione phoned in sick this morning and the intern she got to look over you came in really late. I told her that you came in early so she would leave, since you were half an hour late by that time and, you know, I didn't want anyone to make a big deal about it. It's happened before, you know? But then you didn't show up after another thirty minutes and…well—"

"Did you know about this?" Draco asked, holding up his mother's note. It wasn't the parchment Draco was referring to, but he could tell by the way the color drained from Potter's face that he knew what Draco meant.

"That's-that's how the Ministry informs any cleared Death Eaters of a death in their immediate family," Potter said quietly. Draco narrowed his eyes.

"Oh," he answered coldly. "So that's how the Ministry sees the lot of us then? 'Cleared Death Eaters'? I can't believe--As if we were a step under functioning society--How could that…that… that man _dare--_How could _you-_-"

Potter's face flushed in what he supposed was anger. Draco could feel a tear falling down his cheek again, which only made him madder. He did not want to be doing this in front of Potter. He was angry and upset and ashamed and hysterical and _grieving _for fucks sake! No one could blame him for having a breakdown! And Draco knew that he wasn't making any sense. He took a deep breath and tried to gain control of himself.

"I did not authorize anything of this sort Malfoy," Potter said slowly. "I tried very hard to convince the Minister to send someone down in person, but he was adamant."

Strangely enough, the bitterness in Potter's voice calmed Draco down a bit. His anger began to fizzle away, and he wiped at his face a bit hopelessly with his shirtsleeve.

"So I guess you're here to take me back then?"

Potter frowned.

"No," he said, "Actually, I told them that I sent you home early because of…well…You know."

Draco honestly didn't know what to say. He watched Potter fidget uncomfortably on his doorstep and wondered why Potter would do something like that for him. Then he realized that he probably would have done the same thing for anyone else; he did, after all, have a 'saving people thing'.

"Oh. Well…" but Draco didn't know how to finish his sentence.

He _knew _he should thank Potter, but if he thanked Potter for this, he'd have to thank him for everything. And how could he possibly do that?

"Do you want to come in?" he asked instead.

Potter looked slightly taken aback for a second, as if he had been preparing himself for some other sort of remark, but after a moment he smiled and said "Sure thing." Funny thing about Potter's smile, Draco thought as he moved aside and let Potter enter; it completely lit up the Golden Boy's face. It made Draco a little happier, which was something Draco desperately needed right now. If he was alone, he'd probably be a complete wreck.

"I know it's not much," Draco said as he closed the door with a snap. "But I like it."

Draco watched Potter examine his living room, not entirely sure why he was searching for the Chosen One's approval. Finally, Potter smiled again.

"I like it too."

Potter was nearly pacing around the living room, taking in every detail of the room when Ferus came bounding in, barking like a madman as always. Potter took one look at the dog and nearly fainted. All the color drained from his face, and he got one of those odd looks on his face, the kind that people have when they visit a gravestone for the first time. He had the sudden image of Potter in one of those ridiculous grieving robes that rich old witches wear to funerals; placing a bouquet of white _fleurs-de-lis_ on the grave of Narcissa (Draco immediately tried to swallow the sudden upsurge of pain that came with that particular image).

"Potter?" Draco asked uncertainly.

Ferus approached Potter slowly, as if sensing his anxiety. Potter closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them again he took another look at Ferus and smiled. The dog, taking this as an OK, pounced on him and started slobbering all over his robes. Potter laughed and petted him absently.

"You have a dog?" he asked, still a far away look in his eyes.

He wasn't smiling anymore, but seemed to be in a different place, one perhaps locked away in Potter's past. Draco had a vague memory of Potter once boarding the train to Hogwarts with a huge black dog lumbering after him. Draco wondered if this was what he was thinking of now. Hadn't Potter once known someone who was an Animagus?

"Yeah. His name's Ferus."

The dog in question looked up suddenly, as if only just realizing Draco was there. It barked loudly at Draco, and he rolled his eyes.

"Yes that's right you great dim-witted animal," he answered playfully. "I'm still in the room, so mind your manners."

" 'Ferus', huh?" Potter said as the dog half-heartedly moved to Draco's side and sat down. "Sounds like such a serious name for such a happy dog."

Potter had a smirk on his face that once upon a time would have infuriated him. Now, however, Draco found it quite endearing.

"He's a very serious dog," Draco answered defiantly. "Right Ferus?"

But the dog had already wandered off again, his tail wagging madly all the while. Draco supposed he would be on a hunt for more wild rodents to shepherd into the kitchen. Draco sighed and sat on his small couch.

"Have a seat, Potter, anywhere is fine."

After some serious deliberation, Potter took a seat in Draco's favorite armchair. They sat in silence for what seemed like ages, both of them trying to avoid the inevitable conversation. Finally, when Draco's head was ready to explode from the silence, Potter cleared his throat.

"So Malfoy, do you know what happens to the Manor and all of that now?"

Draco winced. He picked up the box containing all of the deeds and documents and handed them over to Potter, with his mother's will on top of the box.

"She's willed everything to me," he explained, pointing to the will. Potter began to skim the document. "She became the sole owner of all the Malfoy estates and wealth when Lucius went to Azkaban. He didn't want to leave the Ministry any excuse to cause either of us any more pain."

"That was…actually...very clever of him," Potter said, sounding genuinely surprised. "He must have really cared for you, the both of you."

"Once, we were all that mattered," Draco said softly, remembering the happy days of his youth. "I think he remembered that by the end." He paused, watching Potter read and not quite seeing him at all.

"You speak about Lucius as if he were gone too," Potter said. Draco pulled himself out of his musings and found that Potter was watching him with a curious expression on his face. "Why do you call your father Lucius?"

Draco was speechless. He had never been asked that question before, and he didn't really have an answer that would make much sense. He sighed.

"Lucius was a man of many faces," he finally said. "He was a loving Dad, a strict father, a Death Eater, and then he was Lucius. Lucius is the man who is stuck in Azkaban, not my father. He's not quite my equal and not quite my parent, but I seem bound to him eternally because of my surname."

He paused, waiting for Potter to say something, anything to get that strange mixture of empathy and confusion off of the man's face. When he said nothing in response, Draco continued.

"So I guess you'll be taking those documents down to the Ministry to check for authenticity or something?"

He couldn't quite seem to keep the bitterness out of his voice that time. Again, Potter looked taken aback. Draco thought that it might have been because of his sudden change of thought, but then again it might have been because Potter had never heard Draco talk so much in his life. They did, after all, share quite a number of awkward silences. He looked down at the papers in his hands as if really seeing them for the first time.

"I didn't come down here on Auror business," he said after a moment.

"Then why did you come down here?"

Potter rolled his eyes.

"I suppose you're always this thick on weekends," he muttered distractedly. Draco pouted. Potter's expression grew suddenly serious. "Look, Malfoy; I know what it's like to lose someone close to you." Draco clenched his jaw, willing the sudden flair of pain inside of him to retreat. "I've lost more than I care to count in my lifetime. But I've always been there to see it happen, or at least seen them right after the fact." Potter closed his eyes. When he opened them again, they were larger, more innocent somehow. He could have been five years old again, waking up from a nightmare and turning on all the lights. "I guess you could call me lucky that way, although most people wouldn't. But I can't even imagine what it must have felt like for you when you read that stupid letter. An insignificant sheet of paper telling you one of the most important things in your life? I don't understand it, and I'm sorry it had to be this way."

Draco blinked. He couldn't think of anything more useful to do anyway.

"Thank you Potter," Draco finally said in a voice just above a whisper. "But you didn't have to come down here."

"But I did," Potter was getting another strange look in his eyes. A wild, sort of frenzied look that could only come from remembering the war. "I owe your mother my life, and I couldn't even save her when she needed it the most."

Another silence followed Potter's confession. It seeped into the walls and floors, isolating them in their own little bubbles of thought. Draco's knees felt weak, and was thankful that he was already sitting down, or he might have collapsed into the couch in a show of weakness. He wasn't sure if he wanted to know what Potter meant when he said he owed Narcissa his life; not yet anyway. He wasn't sure he could take any more mention of his mother. But maybe someday, if Potter still wanted to speak with him...

"Are you thirsty? Do you want something to drink?" he asked instead. "It's still quite early, if you wanted breakfast or something."

Potter furrowed his brow but said nothing. Finally, he stood and sent Draco another of those uplifting smiles.

"You have strange coping skills Malfoy," he finally said. Draco only shrugged. "I guess I could go for a cup of tea, if you have any handy."

Draco nodded and went into the kitchen. Potter followed and nearly burst out laughing at the sight waiting for them there.

"Ferus you stupid Mongrel!" Draco said as he watched the dog dangle out of the kitchen's tiny window. He looked stuck, his hind legs trying to push him out vainly. "What are you doing?"

The dog, of course, couldn't hear him. His hearing parts were out the damn window, dangling four stories above the ground. Potter couldn't keep it in any longer, and let out a great bark of laughter. Draco scowled at him, half embarrassed and half utterly infuriated. He waved his wand roughly, and the dog came shooting out of the window, landing with a crash on the other side of the room. He had a damned pigeon in his mouth.

"God dammit, you idiot creature," Draco said ominously, advancing on the dog. "How many times have I told you not to go chasing wild animals?" He pointed menacingly at the dead bird. "What did I tell you when you brought the rat in?"

He waved his wand and the pigeon vanished. Ferus' ears drooped.

"You're grounded," he said, already finding the situation more funny than annoying. "Go to your room and don't come out until I don't hate you anymore."

The dog made a whining sound and padded off in the direction of Draco's bedroom. When he turned back to Potter, he was still laughing his head off. Draco waved his wand and two cups of tea materialized on the table, along with a tray of milk, sugar, lemon and honey. When Potter stopped laughing he sat himself at the table and began to fix his tea. Just like that, as if it was the most normal thing in the world to have tea with an old enemy.

Draco sighed. He felt like it should be closer to midnight than midday; too much had happened this morning. He sat in the seat opposite Potter, grabbing his cup of black tea but not really intending to drink it. He heard a few birds chirping through the open kitchen window, a slight breeze coming in and dancing with the thin white curtains. Draco watched these for a moment, trying not to think of anything really.

However, those thin cheap curtains suddenly reminded him of the thick velvet draperies that hung in the Manor and Narcissa in her white winter coat pulling them back, telling an 11 year old Draco that it was too nice of a day to spend inside. They reminded him of the thin silk hangings Draco had once wanted for his bedroom, how he had begged Lucius for them for nearly a month, and the looks on both Lucius' and Narcissa's faces when they found them covered in mud less than a week later.

It took him a second to realize that Potter had started talking. With great effort he pulled himself out of his memories and tried to listen.

"-And I know you've got quite a few resources available to you, but if you need any sort of help when you're planning the funeral, well…"

Draco nearly laughed, although this time he found nothing funny. He wondered if that's why people were considered crazy, because they laughed at things even they themselves didn't find funny.

"I think I should be able to handle things all by myself Potter," he said. "I've had to do worse with less."

Potter winced, clearly rembering their sixth year at Hogwarts.

"Yeah, all right then," he said.

Another of those silences surrounded them, and Draco tried very hard to fight the onslaught of memories suddenly pushed to the forefront of his mind.

"However," he said as a sudden thought came to mind, "I would be of no use if some self-righteous maniac decided to wreak his vengeance while I was trying to lay Narcissa to rest."

Potter gave him a strange look.

"I could _personally_ provide some Auror protection, undercover of course, if it's something that you wanted."

Draco looked down at his rapidly cooling tea.

"As long as you don't bring along Weasley," he finally said. "I don't think I'll be in much of a mood to try to ignore him."

Potter smiled and took a sip from his cup.

"All right, no Ron then."

Suddenly Potter's phone went off. He furrowed his brow before answering.

"It's Potter; what do you need?... Yeah, what's up Ron?"

Draco stopped listening; he was remembering a day from his third year, the last year he had his father before Voldemort stole him away. He and Lucius (he had called him Father then) were sitting on the veranda of the southern wing of the Manor, Draco's Nimbus 2001 leaning on the armrest of his chair. Narcissa stood at the doorway, her pale blue summer dress billowing around her bare feet. It would be one of the only times he ever saw his mother barefoot, as she always said it was an uncivilized habit she didn't much care for. Draco had been trying to convince Lucius to trade in his Nimbus for a Firebolt, arguing that Potter had one and he couldn't be seen looking inferior to anyone, right? His father only said that he couldn't look as if he were trying to catch up to Potter, and if he couldn't out fly a better broom then he'd need to practice more. It was then that Narcissa came out onto the porch (in her bare feet no less, which really amazed Draco) and wrapped her arms around him.

"Don't let Harry Potter faze you son," she had said. "I'm going to tell you one of the oldest Black family secrets," she winked at Lucius. "If you're good at something, you will always meet someone who is either just as good as you or a little better. Do you know why that is?"

"Because fate hates us?"

Lucius laughed at that. Narcissa only shot him a scolding glare before continuing.

"Because those people are the ones who teach us to work harder; they are the ones who motivate a dedicated spirit to become the best. If you truly care about Quidditch, you will be able to beat Mr. Potter someday, even if he has a Firebolt. Those who fail in life do so because they have lost confidence in themselves when they meet their equal. If you learn to overcome your equal, nothing can stand in your way."

"Listen to your mother," Lucius had said wisely, "Because we're not buying you a new broom."

Draco hadn't understood at the time. He had been convinced that both of his parents confused him just so he would forget about the Firebolt and make him lose to Potter. This thought had made him so angry that he had refused to speak to either of them for weeks.

Now however, as he watched Potter pace the kitchen and speak to someone on the other end of his phone, he thought he understood. Competition can either make you better, or can ruin you. And with the odds against you, you can only arise all the greater when you do. Potter probably understood this first hand, had understood since probably his first year.

Those memories suddenly seemed like some sort of vivid dream, one Draco had dreamed so long ago it could have been a different lifetime. He felt very old all of a sudden, as if eons had passed since his third year. He reminded himself that he was still only 19, but was half afraid to look down at his hands, afraid that he might see the appendages of an old man who had wasted his life away.

"I've got to go Malfoy," Potter said as he hung up the phone angrily. "Auror business and all that." He pulled out his wand and waved it distractedly, his mind already somewhere else. A quill, some ink and a sheet of parchment appeared on the table, and he quickly scribbled something on it before handing the sheet to Draco. "Here's my cell number and an address if you need to reach me for whatever reason. Send me an owl once you have all of the arrangements done for Narcissa. Thanks for the tea."

He was nearly out the door before Draco found his voice.

"When will I get to see her?" he asked. "The body, I mean?"

Potter stopped dead in his tracks, his hand reaching out for the doorknob. He ran a hand through his hair before turning to face Draco again.

"Later tonight," he said in a soft voice. "I'll be here on official Auror business at that time, so have those papers you showed me earlier ready. We will have, by that time, officially identified the cause of death."

Draco nodded, but said nothing. Potter returned the gesture, and was about to leave again when Draco said something else.

"We're still so young Potter," he called out. Potter once again stopped. "Why do I feel so old?"

This time, Potter crossed all the way back to the kitchen until he was looking down at Draco from his seat at the table. He laid a hand softly on Draco's shoulder. The feeling caused ripples of electricity to shoot through him, and his gaze was locked on Potter's.

"We've been forced to make adult decisions before we were ready to make them," he said. "It's never fair, but we can't do anything about it. We've been old for years now, it's just when tragedy strikes that you only really feel it."

Draco was sure Potter was referring to himself as well, but amazingly, the thought made him feel better. At least he wasn't the only one who felt this way. Draco smiled.

"Thank you Potter," he finally said. "For everything."

Potter only nodded.

"Call me if you need anything," he said and then was out the door.

Draco looked down at the paper Potter had used to scribble down his address and phone number. In hurried, messy handwriting, Draco read the words _Number 12, Grimmauld Place_ below a series of numbers Draco assumed to be his cell number.

Well, what do you know, he thought to himself. Now just how did Potter come to inherit The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black?


	6. Malfoy Manor

The rest of the day passed in a strange haze for Draco. Twelve hours after Potter left Draco's flat, he returned with an Unspeakable and someone from the Department of Magical Authority. The Unspeakable informed Draco that his mother's death had been deemed a homicide, and that she'd need to question Draco before she left.

"Murdered?" Draco had whispered, and the Unspeakable said in a cold, sterile voice that yes, essentially, that's what had happened. It made Draco wonder when exactly she had lost her own soul.

The other wizard (who Draco had found out a few years back was really just like a Wizard's lawyer) sat with Draco and examined Narcissa's will and all of the legal documents she had sent him.

After the Unspeakable had pulled as much information from him as possible and the Wizard lawyer had deemed that Draco was, in fact the sole beneficiary of the Malfoy estates, Potter dismissed them both and took Draco to see his mother.

The Auror department used the Muggle Mortuary for this sort of work. They had a section of the morgue unreachable to Muggles where the Aurors did whatever it was that they did.

The place was gloomy and very cold, to keep the bodies from rotting, Potter had said. There was one long, flat metal table in the center of room with hundreds of tiny metal doors stacked one atop the other, completely drowning the walls. Draco wasn't sure he wanted to know what was behind those doors, but he could take a guess. His stomach turned cold. He didn't like this place. It reminded him of one of those giant Muggle freezers used to hold large hunks of beef for storage, and he grew nauseous from the mental picture it created.

"Suddenly, I don't think it's entirely necessary for me to be here," he said. Draco cursed the faintly audible waver in his voice.

Potter went to one of the metal doors labeled '226' and sent Draco another strange look.

"You have to identify the body for us," he answered in a stale voice. "I'm sorry, but you have to."

He really did sound sorry, Draco thought as Potter tapped the door with his wand and a long, low table sprung out from the door. On the table was a form covered with a white sheet. Draco closed his eyes as Potter pulled the sheet off of the face. He wished that when he opened his eyes, this would all be some horrible dream.

He opened them, however, and Narcissa's pale face looked up at him, her once unblemished skin blotted grayish-purple and green. Her once perfect lips were blue and distorted from the cold, but Draco had no doubt in his mind that this was his mother. A deep purple bruise shone brilliantly against her pale skin, the blood forever frozen on her elegant neck as proof of her murder. Draco opened his mouth to say something, but found his that voice lost its power somewhere in his throat. Lightly he ran the backs of his fingers across the top of Narcissa's forehead, the way she used to when she would tuck Draco into bed a decade ago.

He was afraid to say anything, lest it might turn into a moan or cry of despair. He nodded to Potter, who hid her face again under the sheet. The heavy linen hid her sharp features until Draco could only make out her long, narrow nose through the cloth. Potter waved his wand, and Narcissa's body disappeared behind the tiny metal door again.

The metal door clanged shut with such finality it startled him. She was gone, and now, with Lucius living on borrowed time in Azkaban, it was only a matter of time before he was left completely alone in the world. Not even a week ago, Draco could count on his mother at least caring for the Manor and all of the family's financial business. Now, Draco was struck with the responsibilities that weighed heavily upon him suddenly. The albatross hung about his neck, sinking him deeper into the despair taking residence inside of his mind.

He had the sudden urge to move back into the Manor. He hadn't heard of a time when a Malfoy had not lived in the Manor ever since the place had been bought almost two centuries ago. He felt as if that were the first issue on his new list of responsibilities. What the next one was, he wasn't entirely sure, but he couldn't sit around and do nothing. Besides, he reasoned with himself; Ferus probably would love the place. He was outgrowing Draco's tiny flat anyway.

"When can I move back into the Manor?"

"You want to move back in?" Potter asked, as if astounded Draco would even suggest something of the sort. Draco only nodded.

"It's my home," he answered. "And Narcissa had been so disappointed in me when I moved out. I just have to, Potter."

Potter was quiet. They had left the mortuary by this time, waiting outside in the chilly winter night. A few flakes of snow fell as Draco waited for Potter's response, his eyes shimmering like pools of molten emerald.

"Well, I guess since the body has been moved no one could technically stop you from moving in. You do own the premises now, but a lot of Aurors will be moving in and out of the place for a while, until they find who killed her. Are you fine with that?"

Draco nodded, and felt a spark of his former pride return to him.

"I am a Malfoy," he said proudly. "The Minstry can't scare me out of my own home."

Potter smiled one of those smiles that made time stand still.

"All right then," he said.

Draco's move back into the Manor was less complicated than what he had anticipated. He talked to his landlord and was basically ready to leave the next morning. The studio had come furnished, so Draco could fit his entire life into one Muggle suitcase (in his defense, it was a very large suitcase, but not magically enlarged). He held onto Ferus tightly as he Apparated them outside the property gates just as the sun was rising.

Whorls of memories seemed to drift by him as he opened the tall, wrought iron gates and began the tread to the Manor. They floated by him and all around, whispering long forgotten emotions and secrets. Draco gave a heavy sigh and watched Ferus run in all directions on the driveway, looking all the world like he'd died and gone to heaven.

"Now don't go running off the path," Draco warned. "There are wolves and bears and chimaerae and all sorts of dangerous creatures hiding in that thicket. It stretches on for kilometers, you know. Goes on for ages and ages, and sometimes, the magical trees like to play games on you and move around, you know, to trick you. It's very easy to get lost in there."

The dog only wagged its tail excitedly in response. Draco laughed; sometimes, he was sure that animal could understand every word Draco said. He just chose to disobey Draco directly. When they finally reached the Manor itself, Draco had to pause for a moment to take in the sight.

The place looked exactly as it had the day he had left; its grandiose façade and spiraling towers gleaming in the early morning light. Draco remembered once when he was nearly seven years old, he had been playing with Theodore Nott when the other boy had asked Draco if his house was haunted. Draco had been so offended and confused by the question that he had refused to play with Nott for the rest of the afternoon. Others Draco had known would often say the same thing, thinking that the Manor, while impressive, had a certain 'creepy' quality to it that none of them would be able to live with permanently. He had never understood what any of them had meant; he just knew that the Manor was home, and how could your home scare you?

Now, however, he was beginning to understand what people meant. The Malfoy Manor was intimidating. He could just imagine what it would look like to some lost soul in the dead of night with a storm coming. Draco smiled at the thought.

He opened the mahogany double doors and was immediately struck by how _alive _everything looked. He had half expected everything to be covered in sheets or thick black draperies; something to commemorate Narcissa's passing. But it looked exactly the way Draco remembered it, right down to the ancient set of master keys gathering dust on a table in the Entrance hall (Lucius had once told him that one of his ancestors had the set made in case the Royal family ever spent the night, which did actually happen back then, he had assured Draco).

"Well, we're home Ferus," he said, but when he looked down for a reaction from the dog in question, he had already disappeared deep into the Manor. "I'm going to have to get that thing a bloody bell," he muttered to himself, a half-smirk on his face.

Draco had never informally invited anyone to Malfoy Manor before; when he was younger his play dates would be assigned outside of the Manor, or while Lucius was doing business with M Parkinson or Nott or something. Later on in life, Draco never felt the urge to have his friends gawk and criticize his home, so he never invited them over. Even now that he had moved back into the Manor, he felt no pressing need to show off the place. He had grown accustomed to living alone, and while not entirely amusing, it didn't bother him much anymore, even in a place with such extravagance as Malfoy Manor.

However, the next Monday Draco entered St. Mungo's and had been immediately attacked by Hermione. Someone had obviously told her about all that had happened. He only half-listened as she berated him for not calling her the second he found out about his mother and about moving into the Manor again. Yet when she started talking about a small house-warming ceremony, Draco began to grow nervous.

"I don't know about that, Hermione," he said, but Hermione only shook her hand dismissively at him.

"What trouble would it cause? Besides, I don't know if I like the idea of you locking yourself away in the nation's most heavily warded castle with only the ghosts of your mother's memory to keep you company."

Draco had never thought if it in such a way before and smiled reluctantly. It was times like these that Draco was glad he and Hermione had become friends. Every now and again she would say something so profound and eloquent that he was amazed she wasn't off somewhere composing poetry.

"There won't be very many people, right?" Draco asked, the question sounding quite ridiculous even to his own ears. After all, the party in question was to be held at his house.

"Of course not, hell, it could even be just you and me if you wanted. Oh my, look at the time. Why is it that when I get to talking with you I am always late for one thing or another?" she asked as she began to walk off.

"I'm just a bad influence that way." Draco smirked. Hermione turned and stuck out her tongue in a very mature manner.

"At lunch we'll go over everything ok?"

She didn't even wait for a response. In an instant she was out of sight. Draco sighed, unsure whether to be exasperated or excited. After a moment he decided that exasperated anxiety was the best mood for him, and went through his daily routines, subconsciously planning his house warming party.

He received much of the same reaction at the FFN after lunch. Since he didn't really care for most of his coworkers, Draco tracked down Ross, Stacy and Talbot individually to invite them. As a last minute decision, Draco told them that they could each bring someone else, just in case they thought they would get bored. Draco vividly remembered the first masked ball he had ever attended, and how dreadfully boring it was without one of his friends there to help him wreak havoc.

Draco was sent to the opening of a relatively popular sporting goods store that day. It was the first time Ross would not be accompanying him, and even though the story was very dull, Draco couldn't help but feeling excited. Maybe it was the feeling of his life finally moving in a direction he was comfortable with that streamed confidence into his veins, but Draco hadn't felt this good since before the War. He still felt a violent sense of tragedy tear through him at the thought of his mother, but Draco figured that everyone felt that way after the death of a loved one. Because even with the knowledge of this, Draco didn't really feel the same terrible loneliness that had coursed through his veins when he had first read that note. He hadn't felt it ever since Potter had stopped by and offered Draco his condolences, which was nothing less than remarkable to Draco.

While he was thinking of Potter, he got the sudden urge to invite him over as well. Draco knew they weren't friends, but he couldn't quite help but feel grateful towards him for spending that wretched first day with him. Potter always managed to soften the edges around any rough situation, and Draco wanted him there in case this 'house-warming' suddenly turned into a bad state of affairs.

Draco was walking home relatively early when he finally gathered up the courage to invite Potter. Stacy had ordered Draco home when he told her about Narcissa, and she insisted that he would not come back to work until the funeral. Draco had tried to argue with her, but she was adamant, saying that Draco would be a useless pile of bones if he was in the midst of mourning. He had managed to shoot his short segment on the store, but was sent home before it was even aired.

The get together had been scheduled for eight-thirty tomorrow night, since Ross' last segment needed to be shot at five that night. Stacy said she would have the 'weekend guy' cover her nightly news show, so it wouldn't be a problem, and Talbot had joked that London could survive with mystery weather for one night, if it was for Draco. He gave them all directions and warned that it would be a lengthy drive, but they all shook off his caution, saying he wouldn't be able to keep them away so easily.

It was now or never. But still, Draco couldn't quite gather up the courage to call Potter. He didn't think he could conceal the nervous waver he knew would sound in his voice. He finally decided on texting him, just to see if he would answer. If he didn't, then Draco wouldn't feel humiliated by flat out rejection, and if he just said no, then Potter wouldn't have to hear the disappointment Draco knew would be in his voice.

_Potter_? He wrote. _It's Malfoy._

He waited a second, stopping in the middle of the street, for his phone to vibrate with Potter's response. It came a few seconds later, and Draco breathed a sigh of relief. He walked on.

_Yeah what's up?_

Draco paused, unsure how to breach the subject.

_Have you talked with Hermione today?_

_Nah why? Is something wrong?_

_No its just I told Herm about moving into the Manor and she made a big deal about it so now I'm having a muggle house-warming thing and I wnted to know if you'd come?_

There was a long pause, and for a moment Draco was terrified Potter would say no. Honestly, did they have to have awkward silences when they weren't even talking too?

_Yeah, course I'll come. What time?_

_830 tomorrow. The wards'll be shut off for a few hours to let the muggles in, so just come through the main entrance._

_Cool. I'll be there._

_K._

Draco felt suddenly three meters taller and 300 kilos lighter (not that he actually weighed that much or anything). He felt like he could float home if he tried hard enough. When he reached the steps to his old studio flat, he chastised himself for letting his feet pad down the familiar path instead of just Apparating the long distance back to the Manor. He crept into the nearest alley and was soon staring at the high ceiling of the main entrance hall.

He called a house elf and told it to begin to bring the strongest of the wards down, that Muggles were coming tomorrow and that she and the other elves should not be seen unless absolutely necessary. Then he told it to alert the kitchens about tomorrow, and to begin the necessary preparations. The elf bowed deeply, said "Yes Master Malfoy," in her squeaky voice, and disappeared.

Draco heard a faint barking coming from deep within the house and nearly laughed. He knew he should have left Ferus outside; he could have magically fenced in an area of the grounds that was large enough for the dog that kept out the nastier creatures. Maybe tomorrow, he decided, as he climbed the winding staircase and began his (what was quickly becoming daily) mad hunt for his dog.

After a completely uneventful morning at St. Mungo's the next day, Draco hurried back to the Manor. In all honesty, he was still half expecting Narcissa to greet him expansively as he entered through the heavy double doors, but he quickly stemmed the disappointment and grief he felt as he entered the empty entrance hall.

He called a house elf, who told Draco that the heavier wards had been temporarily dismantled to allow Muggle entrance into the Manor. The elf, Artemis, said that for security purposes, the modified anti-Apparation wards would be kept in tact because no one that Draco had welcomed that night should think to Apparate directly into the Manor. Artemis also mentioned that a small Muggle security device was being installed onto the front gates as well. Someone would simply push a button at the front gate, and Draco would press the corresponding button, automatically opening them ('automatically' was apparently Muggle for 'magically', or the closest a Muggle could get to magically inducing anything). Really, Muggles were fascinating.

"What have you done about all the portraits and photographs?" he asked after a solid minute of examining the tiny remote Artemis had handed to him.

"A fairly weak immobilizing charm is being administered to the wall hangings as we is speaking," she replied, bowing deeply. "If you is pleasing, they will awake at half past midnight."

"Perfect Artemis. Am I forgetting anything else?"

The elf hesitated, picking at the hem of her potato sack nervously.

"What, Master Malfoy, will you be doing about the Malfoy grounds, if you is pleasing to answer?"

Draco frowned.

"I doubt Ross and the rest are brave enough to wander that place alone," he muttered, a laugh escaping his lips at the thought of Stacy, in her black pumps and £500 pant suit hiking through the wolf infested Malfoy grounds.

"On the other hand, it wouldn't do for a Muggle to accidentally happen across a unicorn or a more dangerous creature, would it Artemis?"

"No Master Malfoy sir," she said, her ears quivering in fear. "If it is pleasing you sir, we could be putting up a temporary fence, the kind that you is suggesting for Ferus only with a smaller circumference. Is that being sufficient to the Master's likings?"

"Yes, that would be fine Artemis," he answered, sending her a smile. The elf nearly sighed in relief. She bowed so low her long nose scraped across the hardwood floors.

"Artemis is doing as Master Malfoy is liking," she said and with a crack, was gone.

Draco hurried up to the Master bedroom on the third floor (after mistakenly climbing up an extra flight to get to his old room) and decided he had time to shower quickly and change into something more presentable.

After his shower, Draco pulled a few selections from his closet and laid them carefully on the bed, trying to decide which would best fit the mood. Almost as a habit he had pulled out his formal dress robes, and nearly laughed as he imagined explaining his clothes to a very confused weatherman. After only minimal hesitation, he ruled out the formal penguin tuxedo as well, as he was only entertaining a few close friends and their guests.

Finally, he decided one of his favorite semiformal black suits. Lucius had always called it a wretched contemporary thing, not made to be worn by respected money such as themselves, which Draco had never really understood. Under the tailored suit coat he wore a tight black turtleneck, something he could wear without the jacket and still look impeccable. Just as he was slipping on a pair of black leather shoes, he heard a knock on the door.

"Enter," he called out, and instantly, a house elf stood bowing at his feet again.

"Begging your pardon Master Malfoy, but there is someone waiting for Master Malfoy at the gates."

"Who is it?"

"He is not saying Master," came the reply, "but we is all recognizing him. Master Malfoy, it is being Mister Harry Potter.

Draco stared at the small creature for a few seconds in disbelief. He checked his pocket watch, just in case, but no, it wasn't even four yet. What was Potter playing at? Still, he couldn't quite ignore the leaps and jumps going on in his stomach, and he smiled widely.

"Show him to Fath-my study," he answered, checking himself once more in his floor-length mirror.

The elf bowed and disappeared. He couldn't quite hide the wide smile just yet, and wondered idly if he should make Potter wait a while, to make him feel uncomfortable. It might be his old suit reminding him of his former self, but he was definitely feeling some of his old spark again. He smirked evilly at his reflection.

"I hope Potter doesn't think I'm overdressed."

"Nonsense my dear boy," the mirror squeaked as Draco left the room. "Besides, Malfoys always pride themselves on being a bit overdressed. It makes you seem more important than those around you."

Draco rolled his eyes and hurried down to his father's private study (not his father's; it was Draco's now, and he'd have to remember that). He took a second to catch his breath before he let himself in.

Potter stood with his back to the door, watching the eternally blazing fireplace with his hands clasped behind his back. He seemed not to have heard the door open, and remained seemingly lost in thought for a few moments. Draco suddenly felt as if this was Potter's private study, and that he had called upon Draco to talk privately. Potter turned and smiled, his eyes sparkling and features thrown into dramatic relief by the firelight. Draco hated to admit it even in his mind, but Potter was breathtaking.

"Malfoy," he said. Draco smiled and nodded.

"Hello Potter." He waved his wand and lit the torches surrounding the room as the fire in the grate dimmed slightly. "I see you're early."

Potter smiled and looked down at his feet.

"Yeah," he said. "But I was done with work a little earlier than I had expected, and then there was the row with Scrimegour and I thought: Hey, why not come around a bit early? I hope that's fine?" he added as Draco furrowed his brow.

"Oh, yes, it's perfectly fine Potter," he said with an encouraging smile. "It's just…you've had a row with the Minister?"

Potter smiled and rolled his eyes.

"More like I've had _another_ row with the prat," he said, looking around and finally seating himself in the large brown leather chair. He sighed dramatically. "But it's a long story, and I'm sure you don't want to hear about it."

"Nonsense Potter, I love to hear you talk." Draco blushed faintly at his own comment. He had meant it sarcastically, but somehow it sounded all too truthful to his ears. "Can I offer you anything to drink? Wine? Scotch, perhaps Firewhiskey?"

Potter watched him with a strange smirk on his lips before answering.

"You do realize we're both only 18, right?"

"19," he corrected, sticking out his chest a little in indignation. "I am the Master of this house, and as such I will adhere to the rules of polite manners, which indicate that I should always offer my guests anything to make their stay more comfortable." He deflated a little as the smirk on Potter's face only grew wider. "Besides, we're both of age, so what's the problem?"

Potter laughed, and it sounded for a moment like a chorus of bells tinkling in the distance.

"I guess there isn't a problem," he said when his laughter died down. "It's just still a bit surreal, I suppose."

Draco raised an eyebrow as he poured Potter and himself glasses of Bordeaux.

"What is?" he asked as he handed Potter his glass.

Draco took a seat opposite Potter in the matching armchair, his legs crossed at the knee and the hand with the wineglass sitting elegantly on the armrest.

"Being old, I guess." Potter smirked at the shocked outrage that inflamed Draco's normally cool, grey eyes. "Not in that way, you vain dolt. I meant that we've both been forced to grow up ages ago, and now the rest of the world is recognizing it and placing the appropriate responsibilities upon us."

Draco watched his glass of wine for a moment before answering. He didn't know whether to agree with Potter's remarkably insightful comment or to scorn it.

"I suppose you're right," he finally said. When he looked up from his glass, his gaze locked firmly with Potter's too-bright eyes. "But if you ever call me an old vain dolt again, you will be most sincerely sorry." Potter laughed and took another sip from his glass. "So tell me, what happened with Scrimegour that made you take cover in my house?"

Potter seemed reluctant to answer.

"It is a very long story," he said with a frown.

"We've got hours before anyone else arrives," Draco rebutted with a smirk. "Besides, I have an electric Muggle warding-thingy that'll tell me when the guests arrive."

Draco held up the tiny remote as Potter examined it, apparently intrigued.

"Electric Muggle warding-thing-y huh?" he mocked, with a tiny smile playing across his lips.

"Don't try to change the subject Potter; I'll have none of it. What happened?"

Potter set his now empty glass on the marble side table and sighed heavily. He ran a hand through the back of his hair as if merely remembering the incident made him irritated. Draco was struck by the honesty of Potter's earlier comment. Yes, they were too old for their age, and Potter suddenly looked worn-down, almost weary of the constant struggles he surely must have to face in his everyday life.

"It was nothing really. It's just that Scrimegour thinks for some reason that there's massive anarchy in the Auror Department now that someone so young is Head Auror, you know? So he's been sticking his nose into business he's not supposed to and causing a fair bit of chaos. Well, you know that conversation you stumbled in on the night I was made Head Auror?" Draco nodded. "Well, no one in the Department wants to open up old wounds, especially since many of the Death Eaters have been tried and sentenced to Azkaban. Not even Ron likes what the Minister's proposing, and that's saying something. So you can guess that tensions have been pretty high with the Magical Law Enforcement and all, and then when…you know…your mother was…murdered," he cast a quick glance at Draco, who had gone to pour himself a glass of scotch. He stiffened slightly, but said nothing. "Well, Scrimegour thinks that this is only the beginning and that we should seriously consider confiscating any and all dark artifacts and lodgings, in case we need to investigate further."

"What?" Draco nearly spilled the bottle as he rounded sharply to glare at Potter. "How could he possibly even consider-?"

"I know Malfoy," Potter answered patiently. He seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself now that he had started his story. "It's absolutely deplorable and despicable, now can I finish? So, what was I saying? Oh, right, so then I told him, very calmly mind you, that there was no way, under any circumstances that I would ever agree to such a gross invasion of personal property and that the Unspeakables and a team of highly trained Aurors were investigating the murder of Narcissa. I told him that it wasn't any of his business who killed her until we find the murderer in question and bring them to trial. Until then, I said, he was not allowed to go poking into highly confidential Auror business."

"Sounds like something you'd shout instead of reason, to me," Draco said when Potter didn't continue.

"Shouting? No, I wasn't shouting," Potter assured him. "The room may have begun to shake, and the lights to flicker ominously, but I wasn't shouting. Not in every sense of the word, anyway."

"Oh, of course not. So you were perfectly controlled then?"

Potter smiled.

"Obviously." Suddenly his face grew serious. "Malfoy, I want you to know that we are doing everything possible to find out who did this to your mother. We will catch whoever did this to her, believe me."

Draco downed his shot of scotch, the amber liquid burning his throat as he felt the familiar pangs of grieve begin to eat up his insides.

"That's good to know," he finally said mildly.

He locked eyes with Potter, and somehow he knew that Potter understood what Draco really meant: that he was grateful for everything Potter'd done for him these last few days. They were silent for a few minutes, Potter staring into the fire as if it held some deep mystery and Draco watching the liquor cabinet, swamped by memories of his father once more. After a few minutes of silence, Artemis the house elf appeared, bowing low and wringing her hands nervously.

"Master Malfoy sir? If you isn't being busy, I is coming to ask you what we should be doing with the Master's pet?"

"Ferus?" Draco asked. "Let him wander the fenced in grounds tonight. Hopefully the mutt will die of sheer happiness so I won't have to suffer his inane stupidity anymore."

The elf bowed deeply again and disappeared.

"You're a bit harsh on Ferus, don't you think?" Potter asked when the elf had gone. A strange look had come into Potter's eyes, and Draco wasn't entirely sure what to make of it.

"It's fine," he answered. "Ferus doesn't mind. Besides, the dog is a spoiled brat. Sometimes I forget that he was a stray before I picked him up, half thinking that he could have belonged to a sultan from ancient Byzantium or something."

Potter still didn't look quite convinced.

"And anyway," Draco added, not entirely sure why he needed Potter to understand him, "he knows full well that I love him."

"Does he now?"

"Yes. Merlin knows I tell him often enough." Finally, Potter smiled again. "What is it with you and Ferus, anyway Potter?"

"What do you mean?"

Draco studied him for a minute before answering. Potter had paled ever so slightly, and a sort of panicked look had crept its way into the corners of his eyes.

"I think you know what I mean."

Potter didn't answer right away. He stood and began to pace the length of the room. He reminded Draco suddenly of a large, caged lion. A large, caged, _nervous _lion.

"I used to know someone who was an unregistered Animagus," he finally said. "He was my Godfather, actually, and when he would transform, he took on a shape remarkably like Ferus. I guess it was a shock for me to see him again after so many years, even if it wasn't really him. Does that make any sense at all?"

"More than it should," Draco answered quietly after a pause.

Potter smiled, as relief flooded his face. Draco did understand. He understood perfectly well what Potter must have felt when he saw Ferus, even if Potter couldn't quite communicate the feeling into words. Draco was just about to tell him so when he heard a tiny beeping coming from one of his pockets.

"Draco? Draco! Are you there?" the voice of Stacey sounded muffled by his coat as he pulled out the remote.

"Yeah, I'm here," he said, pushing one of the many buttons. "Hold on, let me open the gate." He pushed another, hoping to hear some kind of creaking from the front gates. Of course, there was none, the gates were too far away and too well maintained.

"Looks like we've been talking for hours," Draco said as Potter stopped his restless pacing. Potter smiled again.

"Strange how time flies when you're not sitting around doing nothing."

He smirked as Draco rolled his eyes. They exited the study, and Draco motioned for Potter to follow him.

"This is-- _was_ I should say-- my father's Private Wing of the Manor. See that hallway branching off to the left? That's where the second library and the meeting hall are located."

"The _second _library?" Potter asked incredulously.

"Yes. I wasn't allowed into that one until I had been accepted into Slytherin," he said, pulling back an old tapestry and revealing a hidden stairway. He motioned for Potter to go first. "It's a shortcut," he assured when Potter raised an eyebrow in question.

"How big is this place, anyway?"

"The building itself is around 40 acres; I think. The Manor grounds, however, are something else entirely. I'll give you and the others a proper tour of some of the house if you'd like? The less…magical parts of the house."

"I would like that," Potter said as they left the hidden staircase and entered a narrow hallway that led to the entrance hall. "This place reminds me of Hogwarts," he added suddenly.

"Really?" Draco smiled, unexpectedly happy. "Most of the people I know have said the house has a sort of 'haunted house' look to it."

"I don't think so. It's just spacious and full of mysteries. I bet it's really easy to get lost in here if you're not familiar with it." Draco only nodded. "But on that same note, once you've figured out all of its secrets, the house is not so much frightening as it is wonderful."

"Finally, a man of my own soul," Draco said dramatically. Potter laughed, but Draco noticed a slight flush creep across his cheekbones. "Artemis?" The elf appeared bowing at his feet. "Remember, you and the others will not be seen tonight by any of the Muggles. Understood?"

"Yes Master Malfoy," she whispered.

Draco nodded, and she vanished again. At that moment, a loud banging began at the large double doors. Draco waved his arm carelessly, and the doors creaked open. Potter caught his wrist as he motioned for the heavy velvet drapes to shut and for the chandeliers to light themselves.

"Muggles, remember?" he asked flippantly. "I _am_ only the Head Auror you know, and I don't want to have to do any of the tedious paperwork that comes along with a breach of the Statute of Secrecy."

"Oh, I am so sorry, your Excellency," Draco replied, not bothering to remove his arm from Potter's grip. The weight was strangely reassuring to his suddenly jagged nerves. "It will never happen again."

Potter raised an eyebrow skeptically.

"Draco! I had no idea you were fucking loaded!" Ted Ross' voice echoed through the marble-tiled room.

Draco moved away from Potter, suddenly aware of how very close they had been to each other. Ross entered the hall in a flurry with a tall blonde woman at his side.

"Drake, this is Helena," Ross said as he entered, glancing back and forth between Potter and himself. "She's a friend of mine I met in Spain a few years back."

"A pleasure Mademoiselle. I'm Draco Malfoy." Draco bowed to the woman, who smiled and nodded her greeting. He turned back to Ross, who had focused his attention back to his date for the night. "Ross, it's great that you're here. I want you to meet someone, and you as well Ma'amselle Helena; I think you might know him. Potter, this is Ted Ross. Ross, Helena, this is Harry Potter."

"Yes, I know, chief bodyguard to Minister Alan, correct?" Potter smiled and nodded sheepishly as he shook hands with Ross and smiled at Helena. It was an act Draco found strangely endearing. "I work with Drake at the FFN. Up until yesterday actually, he was like my apprentice."

" 'Apprentice?'" Draco scoffed. "Hardly. Beginning reporter maybe. New talent looking to replace boring old faces with something fresh, definitely, but never an apprentice." Ross was sending Draco a suspiciously smug look. He didn't like it much, and decided to change the subject. "Where's Stacy? She's the one who buzzed, right?"

"She and Ethan got a little distracted by your front yard. This is quite a house Drake. If I had known you were rolling in money, I would have asked to borrow some ages ago."

"Which is exactly why I never told you Ross, and I thought I told you to stop calling me 'Drake'?"

"Why? It suits you perfectly, doesn't it Harry?"

Potter said nothing. He only shrugged noncommittally with a faint smirk on his face as Draco sent them both a death glare.

Finally, Stacy and Talbot managed to find their way to the Manor itself, and they spent a few minutes introducing one another. Draco noticed Talbot sending Potter suspiciously vicious looks as they waited for Hermione to show up.

Hermione arrived five minutes later with none other than her horrible weasel of a husband, who in all actuality seemed quite surprised that Potter was around. Potter as well looked thoroughly shocked at seeing his friend at Draco's house. After an awkward silence between the best friends, Draco announced to the room at large (loudly of course, to let the house elves know) that dinner was ready. He led them all to the dining room amidst the impressed silence of his Muggle friends.

The long table would normally shrink or grow depending on the size of the dinner party, and tonight was no different. As Draco led them into the spacious dining room, he found the table much smaller than normal, and had been set up for eight people. The large chandelier hanging above them lit every corner of the room, illuminating the food with an ethereal shimmer.

Draco took his seat at the head of the table, with Stacy on his right and Talbot on his left. Next to them sat Ross and his date, Helena, sitting across from each other. Hermione and Ron sat at the farthest end of the table, with Potter sitting across from Draco at the foot of the table.

"Let's eat then," Draco said, not taking his eyes off of Potter.

Draco was fast becoming a master in the art of Potter-watching.

Luckily for him, the rest of his friends failed to notice. Talbot would try take up some of Draco's precious time with talk of work and such, but the conversation would fizzle when Talbot realized Draco was not in the least bit interested in him anymore. He did end up sending Potter another one of his death-glares over dinner, but other than that, Draco was sure his Potter-watching had remained relatively sleuth.

Draco could get used to this.

"This is only a tiny portion of the Manor grounds," Draco said as they all stood by the newly erected fence less than an hour later at the end of the (somewhat reluctantly conducted) tour. Bright torches had been lit before they had gone outside to make up for the darkness enveloping them, but Draco was sure no one was complaining. They were all too awestruck. "The actual grounds stretch for about three and a half kilometers in every direction from the building itself. I had this fence built for my dog because I didn't want him to get lost and starve out there. It's dangerous for a _human_ to go through the Malfoy grounds alone; imagine if Ferus was allowed to wander around by himself?"

Draco saw the half smile form on Potter's lips and felt like laughing as well, though no one else seemed to have realized Draco owned a dog dumber than a box of rocks.

"Do things actually live in here Draco?" Talbot asked as one of the many peacocks strutted by.

"Obviously," he replied dryly. "But there are more dangerous animals that take up residency here as well."

He cast a sharp glance at Weasley, who looked ready to interrupt. Hermione elbowed him nonchalantly in the stomach as Draco continued.

"My great-uncle had a certain affinity for exotic creatures, and he'd give them to my grandparents as gifts. He brought in tigers from Russia, wolves from the highlands, and even bears from the Americas, among…others."

"Wow," Stacy finally said. "I wouldn't be able to live in a house if I knew tigers could break down my door at any time."

Draco laughed before he could stop himself.

"Oh the tigers aren't any real problem. They mostly stay up in the mountains, along with the bears. Now, the wolves and chimaera-"

"I don't see any mountains," the Weasel piped up.

Draco resisted the urge to cringe; he eyed the Muggles to see if they had caught his slip, but none seemed to have noticed his mention of a dangerous magical creature. Hermione was watching him with a strange look on her face, though. Whatever, he thought as he concentrated on the Weasel's question. He was about to answer that the mountains were enchanted, and of course you couldn't see them you dolt because the Malfoy Mountain range only appeared during the full moon, but then he remembered the Muggles. Draco nearly groaned in frustration. Despite them being his good friends, Muggles really were a hassle. They were dulling Draco's usually sharp wit.

"You wouldn't," he finally said. He looked to Potter and Hermione for help, but they only shrugged minutely. Damn them. "Because we're on the wrong side of the building Weasley." Draco pointed due west. "They're that way, just opposing this outcrop. But even if we go over there, I don't know if you'd see them. They're close to the edge of the property's boundaries."

Draco smirked, congratulating himself on the wonderful lie he had come up with on the spot, and they continued with the tour.

As the group made its way back to the Manor itself, the building suddenly came to life as its torches lit themselves as well. To Draco, the place looked as if it had been carved of crystals and diamonds.

"I don't know if I'd like to live here," Stacy said as they stepped into the entrance hall again. "It's too much house for me, and no offense Draco, but it has a sort of spooky, haunted mansion kind of feel to it."

"You think so?" Draco asked, making it a point to take offense.

"Yes, is true. How do you say? ... Do you know what it makes me think of?" Helena asked Ross in a thick Spanish accent. "Is like the castle from the Beauty and the Beast."

"Oh, well, thank you Helena," Draco answered, silently cursing her. What was that supposed to mean? That his house looked cursed and his décor grotesque? The double doors opened with a bang; luckily, no one really took notice. They entered the hall in tense silence before Stacy spoke again.

"It's late," she said, noticing Draco's newfound annoyance. "I'll see you next week then Draco?"

He nodded. Stacy dragged a very reluctant Talbot off with her.

"I'll call you Draco," he finally said as they left the hall.

"Let us go too, Ted," Helena purred. Ross willingly obliged.

The doors slammed shut with an ominous clanking sound. Now he was just left with the damned Dream Team.

"Well, Weasley, it hasn't been a horror," Draco said with false civility.

Hermione nudged Weasley hard in the stomach. Draco eyed the two with more than a little curiosity.

"Look Malfoy, I wasn't going to come around at first, but then 'Mione sort of convinced me to…" he cleared his throat, hesitant to continue, "Well, to tell you in person that…I'm sorry I misjudged you and I know that you can actually… well, you know, be trusted."

Draco had the urge to laugh. Draco wanted to tell the bloody Weasel that he didn't need his trust and that if it weren't for Potter and Hermione, he'd have hexed the bastard into a bloody toothpick, but then he saw the obnoxiously happy look on Potter's face, and he simply couldn't. For some reason, this meant a lot to Potter, and Draco didn't want to watch that happy expression fall because of something Draco said.

"About time," he said, refusing to be in any way civil out of sheer principle. To his utter surprise, the Weasel turned pink around the ears and stuck out his hand.

"Yeah I know, and I'm sorry about that Malfoy," he mumbled, face still red. "But both Hermione and Harry say that I need to let go of the past and well, I think I want to take them up on their advice." He cast a quick glance at Potter and Hermione for support, who only smiled at him. "So, I'm sorry, and if it's not too late, I'd like to propose a truce of sorts." When Draco said nothing, he continued. "I won't bother you; you won't bother me. I come along sometimes when Hermione and Harry want to hang out with you, and you try really hard not to kill me."

Finally, Draco took the Weasel's hand.

"I think if I try very hard, that could work," he said with a reluctant smile. Weasely beamed.

"Cool," he said. "All right then. I think you've tolerated us long enough. We'll be off then."

"Please," Draco said.

He snapped his fingers and Atremis appeared at his feet.

"Is the Muggles being gone sir?"

"Yes Artemis. Would you please see Mr. and Mrs. Weasley to the Apparation room?"

"Yes sir."

She bowed and motioned for them to follow. The last thing Draco heard was Weasley's incredulous whisper of _he has an Apparation Room?_ before the three of them disappeared and Draco was once again left alone with Potter.

He watched Potter pace with a fond smile slowly creeping up his face.

"What?" Potter asked when he caught Draco watching. Draco blushed slightly and turned away.

"Nothing," he muttered vaguely. "Well Potter, you ready to go back to your meek-by-comparison home yet?"

Potter smirked. A strange gleam was beginning to shine in his eyes, making their pure green darken with something Draco was afraid to name.

"I'm not sure," he answered, taking a step closer.

The large room seemed to shrink with each one of Potter's footsteps. He felt his breath quicken of its own volition, and suddenly Potter was standing mere inches away from Draco, their breath mingling.

"Why not?" Draco whispered, his grey eyes locked onto Potter's.

Potter swallowed audibly, and he hesitantly lifted a hand to comb a strand of blond hair out of Draco's eyes.

"There's something I need to know," Potter said, his breath ghosting over Draco's lips now.

Draco's breathing had become irregular; his hands were involuntarily creeping up Potter's arms. Potter's hand cupped Draco's jaw lightly, his green eyes never leaving Draco's.

"And what's that?" Draco managed to whisper.

Without another word, Potter gently pressed his lips against Draco's. Draco hissed slightly when he felt Potter's tongue slide across his lower lip, silently begging for entrance. Draco tentatively opened his mouth, allowing Potter full access. Potter's tongue swept across Draco's, making him shiver involuntarily.

The kiss was light, and short, and over way too soon. After mere seconds Potter pulled away reluctantly. Draco watched Potter's face, entranced by the blissful smile that had crept over his features. It made Draco want to pull Potter in for another kiss, a deep, searing one that ended somewhere in Draco's bedroom. Potter opened his eyes then, and smirked, his eyes sparkling.

"I just wanted to know if you felt it too."

He placed one last chaste kiss on Draco's lips (that nevertheless caused a boiling heat to course through him) and then he was gone.

Draco stood in the entrance way for some time, his hand absentmindedly stroking his jaw where Harry had cupped it ever so gently. After what felt like ages, Draco returned to his room.

It wasn't until much later that he saw the text message Potter had sent him.

_How about dinner tomorrow?_

_-------_

A/N: I'm sooo sorry I took longer to post this next chapter than usual... i got distracted by a one-shot that I found on my computer half-finished that interested me! :( The next chapter'll be up soon! I promise!


	7. Death Sentence

Mature sexual content herein; do not proceed if you can't handle that!!

__________

Draco awoke the next day in what used to be his mother's room, but for the first time since her death, her memories caused Draco only a tiny pang of remorse. It hardly seemed possible that not five days ago, he had been living in a place a quarter the size of the manor, living a life that he somehow knew was incomplete. It felt like centuries had passed since he first opened that horrible notice from the Ministry telling him his mother had been murdered.

Draco's day was more boring than usual, and seemed to drag on for lifetimes. It might have been because he was anxious about the evening—he had replied to Potter's short message with one just as short as the first. _Pick me up at 8:00._

By the time he had finished at St. Mungo's and made arrangements for his mother's funeral, it was seven-thirty. He had hurried home from the funeral home, took a quick shower, and dressed for his 'date'.

Draco was nervous. He was hoping that Potter wanted to start some sort of relationship with him, but didn't want to make any sort of assumptions when it came to Potter. Draco had changed clothes four times before Artemis had finally informed him that a Mr. Potter had arrived.

"I'll be right down then," Draco said, brushing some nonexistent lint off of his plain black trousers (he had finally decided on a semi casual look for the night, opting for his favorite blue turtle neck to go with his trousers).

He descended the grand staircase soon after to see Potter waiting patiently at the foot of the stairs, a large grin plastered on his face. Draco smiled in welcome.

"Hello Potter," he said.

"You'd think, since we are about to go on our first date, that you could call me Harry," was the answer he received.

Draco grinned, feeling some of his tension melt away.

"All right then. Hello Harry."

"Hey Draco."

Potter-Harry ran a hand through his hair as he cast a glance around the entrance hall.

"You ready?" he asked when his piercing gaze fixed itself on Draco again. Draco nodded his head.

"Where are we going?" he asked as he swept by Harry and grabbed his black blazer from the hat stand by the doors.

Potter caught his wrist and swept him into a sudden embrace as soon as Draco had slipped on his jacket. Instinctively, Draco's arms wrapped themselves around Harry's neck as he felt the brunet's arms settle around his waist.

"It's a surprise," Harry whispered into his ear; a shiver ran down Draco's spine and he tightened his hold on Harry's neck. Draco managed to quirk an eyebrow.

"Really, now? Well wherever we go, you're paying."

Harry chuckled (and really, that sound was not nearly as sexy as his body was telling him it was), and with a small _pop_, they were gone.

They reappeared on the outskirts of a city that Draco did not recognize. He held on to Harry for a few seconds longer than necessary, relishing in the feel of his body pressed securely against the other man's. Harry moved away reluctantly, but took hold of Draco's hand as they walked out of the dark alley.

"Where are we?" Draco asked after a moment of silence.

"It's called Maiden's Marsh," Harry explained, sending Draco another of his dazzling smiles. "It's the wizarding district of Leicester. I've a friend who owns a restaurant out here, and when I first tried the food, I fell in love with it."

"Did you now?" Draco asked as they came upon a chic black building with the words _Á La Lune_ displayed across the top in white.

They entered the restaurant, and as Harry spoke to one of the servers, Draco examined the place. The black square tables and high backed matching chairs gave the place a definite contemporary feeling. The walls were painted a soft cream color, and were decorated with various contemporary pieces of art in black frames. Draco was impressed.

"Right this way Mr. Potter," the server said and led them to a quiet corner of the establishment, where most of the tables were empty. "Your waiter will be with you shortly, and I'll inform the owners that you're here."

Harry smiled and nodded politely to the man, who sauntered off as if his was the most important job in the world.

"So what do you think?" Harry asked as they sat.

"I like it," Draco answered, and Harry smirked.

"I hoped you would," Harry said. "Neville owns the place."

"Longbottom?" Draco asked as a waiter came by and set two glasses of water by their plates.

Harry said nothing; he only nodded as his eyes swept around the room, no doubt categorizing every detail about the night. Draco wondered if it was a habit he had picked up from the war, or if he had started mirroring Shacklebolt when he was named Head Auror. A few minutes passed in silence before a woman's dreamy voice filtered over to their table.

"Harry, it's nice to see you again."

A woman with long blonde hair braided down to her lower back and large blue eyes drifted by and came to a stop by their table.

"Luna, it's been a while," Harry said, nodding.

She set her overly-large eyes on Draco, and she smiled in a dreamy way.

"You're Draco Malfoy," she said.

"Yes, I am," Draco said, wracking his brain, trying to remember why her somewhat vacant expression looked vaguely familiar.

"This is Luna Lovegood, Draco" Harry said by way of introduction. Luna inclined her head at the mention of her name, and turned back to Harry.

"Soon to be Luna Longbottom now," she said softly, lifting her left hand and showing off a simple gold band on her ring finger. She smiled absently. "Oh, and Neville hasn't been feeling too good this past week Harry. He stayed home. I'm sorry you missed him."

"Oh, it's ok Luna," he answered. "And congratulations! Have you set the wedding date yet?"

"No. He said he wants it to be sometime in the summer, and I told him that would be best because of all of the Womper-Mites that hide in the snow."

"That's really great Luna," Harry said, as if the woman had said nothing at all strange. Luna just nodded.

"I'll tell the chef to start making the Special. What do you want to drink?"

Harry turned to Draco expectantly.

"I'm horrible with wines," he said by way of explanation.

"What are we having then?"

"Chevreuil Rôtit," Luna answered.

Draco looked through the wine list and selected a red wine made of blackberries. Luna nodded and said vaguely that she'd have their waiter bring them everything they'd need. Then she floated off, as if she had remembered something mildly interesting on the other side of the room.

"So," Draco asked when he was sure Luna would not be able to hear him, "what exactly is a Womper-Mite?"

Harry shrugged as he took a sip of water.

"Not sure," he said. "But I find it's easiest to pretend you know exactly what it is she's talking about when she goes on about those types of things. Otherwise, you just get confused and frustrated."

Draco smirked.

"Of course," Draco said as the waiter came by with their wine.

Harry took a drink from his wine glass and nodded his approval.

"It's good," Harry said.

"Thanks," Draco said; Harry only rolled his eyes. "The funeral's Sunday morning," Draco said after a moment of silence. "It starts at seven."

"Oh," Harry said, eyes fixed on Draco. "Do you want me to go with you?"

Draco was silent for a moment, trying to find his voice over the lump that had formed in the back of his throat.

"Yes," he finally said in a small voice as the waiter served them their steaming plates of delicious smelling food. "That is, if you want to."

"Of course I want to Draco," Harry said, reaching across the table and gently grasping Draco's hand, which was messing with the white tablecloth. "I want to be there for you."

Draco smiled reluctantly.

"Do you know who did it yet?" he asked after a moment. Harry's grip tightened on his for a moment.

"No," he finally said. "I don't know the exact details of the case, since I'm not on the investigation team, but I do know that they're looking into a few possible suspects."

"Oh," Draco said.

Gently, he pulled his hand out of Harry's grasp and picked up his knife and fork.

"Let's not talk about it tonight," Draco said, well aware that he was the one who had brought the subject up in the first place. "We're not going to have any awkward pauses tonight Potter."

"Oh really?" Harry asked with a doubtful expression on his face.

"Really. We are going to have intelligent and thought-provoking conversations tonight, like normal, civilized adults."

Harry picked up his fork and poked at his food.

"Whatever you say," Harry said. "So, first off then, what exactly is 'Shevrue Rotee'?"

"Chevreuil Rôtit," Draco corrected, "And it's roasted deer. Don't look at me like that; it's really good. Honestly," he added at the face Harry was making.

He took a bite to emphasize his point. Harry followed suite, and was sooon smiling despite himself.

"You're right, it is good, actually," Harry said around his mouthful of food. Draco smirked.

"Told you it would be," Draco said. Harry smiled at him, but said nothing in response. He only took another bite of his meal.

Draco was surprised. For the past two hours, he and Harry had actually talked, and talked about things besides the war. They had argued about the philosophy of Dark Arts, wand theory, the exact magical properties of unicorn's blood, and even possible ways to regain memories when Obliviated. Harry was surprisingly intelligent.

Not that Draco had ever thought him stupid; it was just that he hadn't had anyone to argue wand theory with in so long; for a while he thought that he must just be crazy to desire a fervent intellectual argument of that sort. But with Harry, Draco could talk about all of his ideas and philosophies, and he would listen intently, offering criticisms and suggestions that Draco hadn't even thought of.

"You know, for the longest time, I wanted to write a book on the philosophy of the Dark Arts," Draco said as they finished off their desserts (chocolate soufflés with sparkling champagne).

"I think you should," Harry said earnestly. "If you still want to of course. I know that you'd probably be really busy with that news station you work at after you get off of probation and everything, but I'm sure it would be a fascinating read."

Draco flushed slightly and smiled.

"Why thank you Harry," he said in a pseudo-cordial manner. "I am honored by your compliments."

"Prat," Harry said, rolling his eyes. He smirked deviously. "And you know what you should call it?"

"What?" Draco asked, already unsure if he wanted to know from the mischievous look on Harry's face.

"_Why Turning On the Lights Isn't Always a Good Thing: A Practical Guide to Dark Magic._"

Draco snorted into his wine glass, unable to help himself. He shook his head, laughing.

"You are daft," was all he could manage to say before a fit of silent laughter overtook him.

The waiter came by and set their bill on the table. Harry pulled out a Muggle wallet and put a Muggle credit card into the little black folder.

"Neville says that it's a lot easier to work with Muggle money," Harry answered Draco's unspoken question at the look on his face. Harry shrugged. "Probably because Gringotts is too old-fashioned to start using debit cards and whatnot."

Draco nodded.

"Lucius used to know the wizard Head of Affairs at Gringotts," he said. "If you wanted, I could probably send him an owl with your suggestion. It'd have to be sometime after my probation, since he would probably be more open to suggestions at that time."

Harry gave him a strange look.

"I'm sure he'd reply to you if you sent him an owl," Harry said earnestly. Draco nearly laughed until he realized that Harry was being serious.

"Harry, the man was friends with _Lucius_."

"Exactly," Harry argued. "Wouldn't that mean he would be one of the only people who wouldn't think bad of you? I mean, he works at Gringotts. He knows how much money you have."

Draco smiled.

"It's a logical assumption," he conceded. "But it's a Gryffindor-ish one."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, when you look at it from a Slytherin standpoint, there are two flaws in that argument. One is that you assume he was loyal to my father, when he wasn't. They exchanged favors, mostly involving money, true, but once Lucius landed himself in Azkaban, he lost that loyalty. No one wants to be affiliated with Death Eaters and Voldemort in any way, in case you haven't noticed."

Harry rolled his eyes.

"No, I didn't notice that," Harry said. "You see, I have the utmost pleasure of having a job that doesn't have anything to do with that sort of thing."

"Sarcasm does not suite you Potter," Malfoy replied with a smirk. Potter finished off his wine in response.

"What's the second reason then?"

"My money will still be around after my probation ends, once I'm given a proverbial 'clean slate'. Who would want to speak to me now when they can wait a few months to speak to me and have it be socially acceptable?"

"I would," Harry said softly. Draco flushed in response.

"Yes, well, you never did follow the rules."

The waiter returned and handed Harry back his credit card with an imperial nod. Harry thanked the man and stood, sending Draco a coy smile. Draco's pulse quickened.

"So, where to now?" he asked when they had exited the small restaurant.

"Wherever," Harry answered, slipping his hand into Draco's as they walked. "It's still early. We could go catch a movie, Muggle or Wizarding, or we could go to a pub if you wanted, or we could go back to my place if you want to stay in…"

Draco slid his arms around Harry's neck, surprised at how completely natural the motion seemed. It felt as if he had been with Harry for ages, and that this was their thousandth date, not their first.

"Your place," he whispered into Harry's ear, and delighted in the tiny shiver it caused in the other man. Harry nodded and Apparated them away.

They reappeared in a cozy flat, but Draco had no time to study it in detail. Before he knew it, Harry was kissing him again, and this was the kiss he fully expected from his old school rival. This was a challenge, a duel so and full of passion and heat and gods, he needed more.

Harry wrapped his arms around Draco's waist, pulling him along as he made his way into Harry's bedroom. Harry pulled away for air as he sat down heavily on the bed, dragging Draco down with him. Draco took advantage of Harry's exposed neck and started laving at his pulse point. Harry moaned incoherently and lay down fully on the bed with Draco draped on top of him.

Draco could feel the bulge of Harry's arousal through his jeans, and he aligned himself so that his own erection brushed up against Harry's and straddled his hips. They both groaned at the friction the motion produced. Harry's hands left their spot on Draco's hips and began to tuck at Draco's shirt impatiently. Draco smiled. He released Harry for the time it took for them both to pull off their shirts, and resumed his quiet exploration of Harry's body. He ran his tongue along Harry's jaw and collarbone as Harry's hands found their way into his hair.

"Oh gods, Draco." Harry was writhing beneath him, thrusting his hips upwards for more contact.

Draco whispered a spell and both of their trousers and pants vanished.

"Yes," Draco hissed and shifted so that Harry's cock was brushing against his arse.

"Fuck me Harry," he whispered into Harry's ear, before taking his earlobe into his mouth and suckling it gently.

"Yes," Harry answered.

In an instant Draco felt himself stretched and slicked with a silent spell from the other wizard, and Draco's cock gave a nearly painful throb in anticipation. Draco lifted himself and slowly lowered himself onto Harry. Inch by glorious inch, Harry's cock disappeared inside of him, until Draco was sitting in Harry's lap and panting slightly, his hands ghosting over Harry's stomach and chest.

"Gods Draco," Harry panted, his hands running up and down Draco's back. "You feel amazing."

"Mmm, so do you," he replied, and slowly began to move.

And Merlin, it had been a long time since Draco had had sex with anyone, and Harry felt so good underneath him, thrusting up to meet him as they set a fast pace that Draco wasn't sure how long he would last. He crashed his lips back onto Harry's, needing to feel more of the man underneath him; Harry shifted slightly and grazed that spot deep within Draco that caused sparks of intensity to flood him.

"Fuck, yes Harry," Draco murmured between kisses. Their movements became more erratic, and Draco thought he heard ringing in his ears as a delicious heat began to coil up inside of him—

But then Harry let out a frustrated growl and faltered in his movements, and Draco realized that the ringing wasn't just his ears; it was Harry's mobile.

"Draco—" he said, but Draco cut him off with a fierce kiss, his hands gripping Harry's waist so tightly he thought he might leave bruises.

"Don't you dare," Draco managed to pant, keeping up the rhythm from before, though the threat of orgasm had receded slightly. "Don't even fucking think about it."

"Mmm…But what if it's important?" Harry groaned. Draco tweaked one of Harry's dark nipples, causing Harry to arch off the bed and thrust into Draco faster.

"What…is more important than…this?" Draco asked, feeling his climax nearing again.

Harry didn't reply, he only thrust up into Draco's body harder, grazing Draco's prostate again and again. Then Harry's hand was on Draco's weeping cock, and it only took a couple of hard strokes before Draco was coming. He felt Harry give one more hard push, and he was climaxing as well, spurting his seed deep inside of Draco.

Draco collapsed atop his spent lover, waiting for the stars to vanish from his eyesight. Harry wrapped his arms around Draco's lithe form, and began dropping tiny chaste kisses along his jaw line.

"That was nice," Draco sighed, letting his eyes drift shut.

"Just nice?" Harry asked, and even with his eyes closed, Draco could hear the tiny pout in the question.

"Mmm, fantastic, amazing, earth-shattering," Draco amended, his brain already shutting down. He rolled off of Harry, feeling his flaccid cock pull out of Draco's body. He curled up into the crook of Harry's side, draping a leg around the other man.

_I could get used to this,_ Draco thought as Harry's hands began to trace lazy circles across his back.

Draco was just drifting off to sleep when he heard an annoyingly familiar voice echo through the flat.

"Potter! Are you there? Where in the bloody hell are you?" Scrimegour's angry voice called from the living room.

"Fuck," Harry muttered. "He must have been who was calling earlier."

"Pretend you're not home," Draco said, but Harry was already extracting himself from Draco's body.

"I have to answer him," Harry said, looking around for his pants. "He only ever firecalls if it's urgent."

"Fine," Draco pouted. Harry stopped his search and placed a kiss on Draco's lips.

"I'll be right back," he said, finding an old pair of jeans and pulling them on. He cast a quick cleaning charm on himself to get rid of Draco's cum drying on his stomach before leaving the room.

"What is it Minister?" Draco heard Harry say from his spot the bed. Draco pulled back the sheets of the bed and made himself comfortable, intent on drifting back to sleep.

"Where have you been Potter? I've been trying to reach you for the past hour! I finally had Auror Weasley give me your, what-do-you-call-it, sell-you-lar foam number—"

"Cellular phone number," Harry corrected. Draco smiled and snuggled deeper into Harry's blankets.

"Yes, well, whatever it is. Have you thought about my Amendment to the War Laws?"

"Yes, I have," Harry answered crossly. "And I stand by what I said before. I think it's a horrible idea."

"Of course you do Potter." Scrimegour sounded exhilarated, as though he was about to say something that he knew Harry would hate. "And since my Head Auror declined to sign the Amendment, I had to go through the Wizengamot to get it approved."

"You actually got those bloody idiots to approve that rubbish?" Harry asked, but there was something other than anger in his voice now. Draco sat up, curious. Did Harry sound worried?

"Yes; it wasn't all that difficult," Scrimegour's voice said. "It'll be in the _Prophet_ by tomorrow morning, I suppose." Scrimegour laughed in a decidedly evil manner.

"You've gone mad," Harry answered bitterly. "You're only passing this amendment because you know I don't approve!"

"Exactly Potter. Be sure you remember. As long as I am Minister for Magic, my authority is total. By this time next month, every Death Eater sentenced to life in Azkaban will be dead, or without a soul because you thought to undermine me. Have a nice night."

Draco felt his blood turn cold. He was vaguely aware of Harry cursing obscenities into what was probably a now empty fireplace, but he wasn't really listening. The bottom of his stomach suddenly felt like steel. Every Death Eater… Within a month--? He couldn't lose them both. It wasn't possible; no. Not after Narcissa—

And then, with a sudden jolt of dread coursing through his veins, he remembered Narcissa's last request of him.

_Watch over your father for me. Keep him safe._

Draco clenched his jaw.

The bedroom door creaked open, and Potter stood silhouetted against the living room light. He must have seen the haunted look on Draco's face, because in an instant he was on the bed beside him, arms holding Draco tight.

"Oh Draco," he whispered, but Draco barely heard him. "I'm so sorry. I promise I did everything I could."

Draco nodded, at a loss for words. His heart was wrenching in a strange mix of fear, grief, disbelief and dread.

_Watch over your father for me. Keep him safe._

Draco barely heard Harry's questions; he only nodded vaguely at all of them. Soon, he was lying on his side with Harry pressed against his back, an arm wrapped protectively around Draco's middle.

_Keep him safe._

Draco suppressed the urge to cry out in anger. How could she leave him a task like this? Draco knew Harry was not yet asleep. He would probably wait until he was sure Draco had fallen asleep before drifting off himself, in case Draco needed him. His heart wrenched; he did not want to betray this man's trust. He was not sure when it had happened, but somewhere along the lines; he had gained deep, all-consuming feelings for this man lying beside him in just a few short days.

_Keep him safe._

"Harry?" he asked weakly what felt like hours later. Harry tightened his hold on Draco to show that he was awake and listening. "Could I…Would you…be able to get me into Azkaban…To see him…before…?"

Harry placed a soft kiss on the back of Draco's neck that was so tender Draco had to close his eyes against the torrent of grief that sprung up inside his heart.

"Of course."

"Thank you," he said in a small voice, hoping he sounded grief-stricken and not afraid.

_Keep him safe._

He sighed and placed his hand on top of Harry's where it was lying on his stomach. He would not think of it now; hopefully, by tomorrow he would be able to analyze this situation properly, and not compromise his status in the wizarding world. Not find himself in a position where he would have to choose between his family and his new lover; his new life.

_Watch over your father for me. Keep him safe._

Draco doubted it was possible. But he would have to try.


End file.
